


The Burning Truth

by moonlitli



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Romance, Bisexual Remus Lupin, Cage Fights, Complete, Dog Fighting, Eventual James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, F/M, First War with Voldemort, Gay Remus Lupin, Gay Sirius Black, Hurt Remus Lupin, James Potter Being an Asshole, Letters, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Long, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Marauders, Marauders Friendship, Marauders' Era, Ministry of Magic, Minor Character Death, Minor James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Minor Original Character(s), Murder, Mystery, Novel, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Remus Lupin Never Went to Hogwarts, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship, Thriller, Werewolf Remus Lupin, Young Remus Lupin, Young Sirius Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-03-19 00:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 111,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13693479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitli/pseuds/moonlitli
Summary: In a Marauder's Era Alternate Universe where Remus never went to Hogwarts, it is summer in Godric's Hollow. When the house across the street from James's burns down in the middle of the night, James's family takes them in. They are the Lupins - a strange, secretive family with a lot to hide, especially now that Mr. Lupin is dead. When James's best friend Sirius (who has some secrets of his own, the least of which are some lingering feelings for James) arrives on James's front door and Remus begins receiving threatening letters, the boys decide to go on a dangerous journey through London to report the letters to the Ministry of Magic. In a world where Voldemort is rising, this choice changes everything.





	1. Up in Flames

**CHAPTER 1**

 

The quiet darkness of early morning held a special sort of calm for James Potter. It was at this hour that he usually wrote, as he did tonight, long, sprawling love letters to the only girl he had ever wanted. He stretched from his position at his desk, thinking again of the loveliness in her name, without realizing that for the umpteenth time he had taken to repeating it over and over again in the body of his note.

His window was held slightly ajar, the curtains fluttering slightly in the breeze. Confused, he paused. Outside, something flickered. Slowly he turned his gaze to the direction of the light. No, it wasn’t light, he realized, involuntarily standing up in his chair. It was a fire. Not just a little one, either; the flames he saw were massive. The way they danced in and out of the house’s frame left him feeling cold. If there were still people inside, it wouldn’t be long before they died in the flames or the smoke.

“Mum! Dad!” he yelled, stumbling over the chair in his room to hurtle down the stairs. “Mum! Dad!” he repeated until he found their bedroom, nearly breaking down the door before he remembered the doorknob.

His parents were curled around each other in their bed, their light summer sheets all the way up to his mother’s cheeks. Bleary-eyed, his father woke first, immediately placing his glasses on his nose. “Why are you up this early, James?” his mother mumbled.

“Fire!” he yelled, unable to say anything else.

That got their attention. His father slipped his dressing gown over his shoulders and his mother did the same a beat behind him. “Where is it? Is it in the house?” his father asked. “ _Lumos._ ” A light shone from his wand.

James shook his head, copying his father. The Ministry department that persecuted underage wizards would forgive him. It was, after all, an emergency. “Outside. Across the road. The new neighbours–”

“The Lupins,” his father interjected.

James nodded, “Yes.”

They reached the door. Mr. Potter took in a sharp breath at the sight. “My word,” he said. He looked at his son for a moment, then pursed his lips. “We’re going to need to wake the neighbours. This fire must have been started by a wizard.”

“I can help, and mum’s here, too–”

Mr. Potter shook his head. “No, James. We don’t know who is in that house, and I can’t suppress a fire like that on my own. I’m a wizard, not a god. No, we need to wake the neighbourhood.”

Godric’s Hollow was a small wizarding town lined with short, broad houses belonging to the Ministry of Magic’s government workers. It was a quiet town, even quieter after midnight. Now, though, Mr. Potter’s voice boomed over the houses on the street calling for his neighbours to wake. In the time it took for their neighbours to hear his magnified message and roll out of bed, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, and James went outside and engulfed the house with spells to put out the fire.

The heat was intense, and sweat was soon dripping from places on James that he had never even thought he could sweat. The fire was also loud, crackling and hissing as it burnt through old wood spelled for protection. The protection just wasn’t enough this time, James thought bitterly.

Soon loud cracks signalling the apparition of neighbours started to sound, and more wizards and witches were spelling the fire. He could see now that it was diminishing more and more with each added witch and wizard. “ _Aguamenti_!” they yelled, one after another. To his surprise, none of the wizards seemed panicked despite the size of the fire. He suspected that part of their calm was due to his father. People respected him, and James always noticed that he had a calming affect on any group that he led. Today was no different; his father was throwing out spells and delegating orders to those that were unsure of what to do.

When there were enough wizards working to douse the fire, Mr. Potter sent several of them into the house to find the family. They spelled themselves with a tickling charm and hurried in. Something was not right with the house, because any wizard whose house went up in flames like this would spell their family and leave. He said as much to his father in between spells and Mr. Potter pursed his lips, “I hope you’re wrong, James, but I suspect that you’re right.”

Simultaneously, they yelled, “ _Aguamenti!_ ”

Mrs. Potter, returning from inspecting the rear of the house, added, “They might not be in the house. Don’t forget that possibility.” Mr. Potter looked doubtful, and James couldn’t help but agree with his doubt. It was late for an evening activity, and no one in the Lupin home ever seemed to go in or out. Secretly he wondered if the whole family had been dead for months and no one had noticed.

It was a while before the first of those Mr. Potter had sent into the fire came out of it. At first all they saw was a shadow of black against the fire’s bright light. Then, the shadow grew wider as someone stepped forward. “There! Look!” James cried. Those who heard him turned in the direction of his pointed finger. James squinted. The figure was too bulky to be just one person. James dared to hope that someone had survived.

With each step the figure grew more clear until James saw that it was, indeed, not just one person, but two, three! He made out a middle-aged woman, and a boy his own age behind the neighbour who had gone into the fire, Mr. Sole. “She’s not breathing!” Mr. Sole yelled as soon as they cleared the smoke. Mrs. Potter and several others immediately rushed to the Lupins. James furrowed his brow. From where he was he couldn’t see Mrs. Lupin’s difficulty. She seemed fine to him. The boy, too.

“Who are they talking about?” James yelled. Mr. Potter, whose eyes were as bad as James’s, admitted he didn’t know.

“Go find out, will you?” he said.

There were a lot of people crowded around Mrs. Lupin and her son, but neither of them seemed to be the focus of the attention. James had to shove his way through the crowd, all while saying, “Sorry, coming through,” to everyone he bumped into. Finally, at the centre, he saw what he couldn’t before: a little girl of about eight years old, and like Mr. Sole had said, she didn’t seem to be breathing.

Mrs. Mire, a healer, was already issuing orders to those uselessly trying to get a glimpse of their secretive neighbours. “You, you, you, and you,” she said pointing. “stay here. Everyone else get back to the fire. This isn’t a street show!” Like dogs following their master they all listened to her instructions, simply doing what a strong voice told them was right.

James didn’t move. “I meant you, too, Potter.” James shifted his weight.

“I know, Mrs. Mire. My father just sent me to see if they were alright.” The greying woman had no patience for James right then, but Mr. Potter was another matter.

“You may tell your father that Mrs. Lupin and her son Remus are just fine, if a little scared, and the daughter will be too if I’m let alone,” she replied wearily. James glanced at the small family. The boy, Remus, was comforting his shaken mother, both of them fixed on the unmoving frame of the little girl. Neither heard a word James and Mrs. Mire said. They didn’t look so strange, but he couldn’t understand why they had stayed in the house with the fire.

Mr. Potter wasn’t comforted when James told him about the Lupins. “Wasn’t there a Mr. Lupin?” he asked.

James shrugged and Mr. Potter shook his head, but returned to the fire. It was dying down, and it wouldn't be much longer before it was put out completely.

Then, finally, the fire was stopped. Planks of wood hung lopsided from the frame, charred and drenched with water from the spell. A few people spelled the fire a few more times just in case. When they stopped, the night was suddenly quiet again without the hiss of flames. The crowd surrounding the building stared, waiting, wondering if the flames they were fighting would rise once more, but instead there was only silence. For James, it felt like everything had finally turned right. His neighbourhood was safe again.

After that brief moment, people began to speak again in relief. The witches and wizards still in the building were still looking for Mr. Lupin, if he was there at all. James saw that the little Lupin girl was breathing, clutching her mother. He squinted to see them. They were closer now than they were before, and among those who clamoured for gossip was his mother. James frowned, then looked at his father, who frowned as well. Mrs. Potter liked gossip as much as anyone else, but even James could tell that his mother wasn’t set on gossiping right then. Mr. Potter could tell as well, but he looked unconcerned.

James’s parents had done this before. On occasion one of them would come across something or someone who was particularly needy and take them in for a day or two before getting them back on their feet. Sometimes it would be a dog, a cat, or a magical creature. James had even had a freed house elf stay in his home until it could find a new master. He could tell from the look on his parents’ faces that this was no different. Once more, James’s home would be overrun by someone –someones – who would use his toothbrush and make him feel like a horrible person for truly not giving a whit. That wasn’t to say James wasn’t a caring person, exactly, just that his caring did not necessarily extend to lending out his home. That was the point of having a home, after all. It was his.

Sure enough, his mother was soon marching towards them with the family in tow. “The Lupins will be staying with us until they are able to leave,” she said as though it might be debated.

It wasn’t. “Of course,” Mr. Potter replied. He turned to the Lupins, “We’ll get a room ready for you. Remus, you can sleep in James’s room if you prefer.”

Remus quickly shook his head, and James felt a surge of relief. He didn’t want to share his room. However, Remus’s rejection of him did bring up some interesting questions. Like, for example, why not? Did he smell?

“I’ll just stay in the room with my mother and sister, if you don’t mind, sir.”

“Thank you again for letting us stay with you, I can’t think of what we might have done if you hadn’t…” said Mrs. Lupin. She was a small woman, unlike her son, and she shook with a nervousness that James suspected wasn’t entirely due to the fire.

“It’s no problem, Mary. No problem at all. I couldn’t have you out on the street, not after the night you’ve had,” replied Mrs. Potter firmly. She shook her head. “Locked in that basement as you were, I can’t imagine,” she turned to her husband. “Did you know the three of them were all in the basement? That’s how Sole found them all at once.” She tutted. “Any news of Mr. Lupin?”

Mr. Potter shook his head. “Not yet. Do you know if he’s in the house, Mary?”

Mrs. Lupin glanced at her son, then ever so slowly nodded her head. Mr. Potter’s brow creased in worry, but neither he nor James’s mother said a word.

Now that the fire was gone, the younger wizards were running in and out of the house looking for Mr. Lupin, while the older ones that hadn’t already returned to their houses were moving planks of wood with their magic.

“I’m going to go help,” James said. His mother nodded, but he could see his father tense. He wouldn’t say anything of course, not now with Mrs. Lupin watching, but James could be sure that his father would reprimand him later. Mr. Potter didn’t like him putting himself in danger. It was James’s mother that understood: sometimes you had to get into danger, and sometimes it was fun.

The door to the Lupin’s house had burned off the hinges, so the boys only had to step through the gaping hole in the wall at the front of the house. Inside, they split into search teams. James’s team started in the living room, using a combination of magic and muscle to move the broken bits of furniture.

Colin Herstead, a tall and thickly muscular Auror who lived a few houses down nudged James, “I wonder where we’ll find the dead guy.”

James shuddered, “Let’s just hope he’s not dead.”

Herstead shrugged. “Right,” he said.

Their search team combed through burnt rubble, grinding their shoes into the charcoal. James felt more and more like a seventeen year old nobody with every step, humbled by the destruction from just across the street. The wooden planks they shifted to search beneath were still hot, reminiscent of flames. It was an effort to remind himself that he wasn’t just some kid; he was a Marauder with two of the best friends in the world.

Eventually, their teams headed, with the rest, up the burnt steps, following a wizard who spelled the stairs to hold their weight. They were assigned to Mr. Lupin’s office. James was left to sort through rubble and roof beams near Mr. Lupin’s desk. There was a hole in the floor to his left and one in the ceiling to his right. Not feeling very safe, James tread carefully and set himself by a metal bookcase. What was left of it was melted and warped. At one point it had probably held a lot of books, but no longer. It was too heavy to move. James froze. He could see something lying beside the book case. It looked like a heartstring. There were two pieces, and somehow they were still intact. He could only assume that the heartstring had been held by a wand before the fire, and that the wand had been snapped in half.

“Alan, do you know if the cores of wands can survive fires?” he asked a man to the left who was in his mid-thirties. He was a junior researcher in the Department of Mysteries, so James thought that if anyone on his block knew, it would be him.

Alan thought a moment, “Yeah, I think so. Why? Did you find one?”

“Yeah,” James said, and pointed at the heart string.

“There you are,” said Herstead to no one in particular after lifting up some wooden beams that had fallen from the roof. “I found the man. Sad bugger, this one is.” He was pointing at Mr. Lupin’s corpse. It was raw and charred black. His features had been burned from his skin. It could have been anyone. James breathed out, feeling sick. Looking at the faces of the others in the room, he wasn’t the only one.

Fighting the urge to vomit, he said, “I think I know why he didn’t stop the fire.” He pointed at the broken wand, his hand shaking. “He broke his wand.”

Herstead whistled, “Unlucky bastard.”

“So,” James said, “Mr. Lupin is dead.”

“Looks that way,” the woman called Beatrice replied. “No wonder, someone broke his wand so he couldn’t get out.”

For a moment those who could stand it just stared at the body, and those who couldn’t fixated on a spot in the charred, unstable room. After a moment she continued, “We should probably leave the room how it is. You know, so the aurors can take a look in the morning and really inspect it.”

Another man agreed, “I think so, too. I don't think this was a clean fire. I think someone started it. We should wrap up. Nobody touch anything on the way out,” he ordered. After a few more instructions to the rest of the searchers, they filed out with dark expressions. The moment James was far enough away from the house that the smell of smoke was distant he doubled over one of his mother’s rose bushes and vomited, his stomach still churning. He gagged again for good measure, just in case he had anything left. He didn’t.

A hand rested on his shoulder. James started in surprise, his mind reeling after seeing Mr. Lupin’s corpse. When he turned he saw that it was not, as he had feared, Mr. Lupin’s thin, bony hand reaching out of the charcoal to grasp at his naked throat, but instead his father. Mr. Potter pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I heard that your team found the body,” he said. James nodded, unable to say anything. Tears were beginning to come to his eyes. He wiped them away furiously, not wanting to cry in front of his father. “It looks like you took it pretty hard.”

“He was so… dead,” he tried to explain.

Mr. Potter shook his head and instead just gave him a hug. “Death can be hard to look at. But you were brave. You went through with it.” James shook, no longer able to weep with the abandon of childhood. His father patted him on the back making soothing noises. James stepped back and wiped his nose, which managed to be runny and gross despite a lack of tears.

“I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I’m not the one with a dead father,” he said.

“I’d rather you vomited and cried than you remained calm and composed. You know why?”

“Why?” James asked.

“It means you care enough to be affected by things,” he said. “It’s the one thing I worry about, you know, with all those pranks you boys pull, all the business with exploding pipes and swapped tests and that business with that boy Severus and the rabbit. But maybe you’ll be okay yet.”

James didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure if he had been complimented or reprimanded, but that wasn’t uncommon with his father. “I’m trying,” he said finally.

Mr. Potter sighed, “I know, James.” He slung an arm around his son’s shoulder, “Come on. Let’s go.”

Someone broke the news to Mrs. Lupin. As the search teams filtered in from their battered and burnt house, Remus stood silently beside his mother as she wailed. It was Mrs. Potter who soothed her. She cried, “Not John! Not John! Why did it have to be John?”

 


	2. The Neighbours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lupins get settled in, and James finds some reasons to dislike his new guests. Meanwhile, Aurors begin their investigation of Mr. Lupin's death, starting with an interrogation of tearful Mrs. Lupin that prompts more questions than answers.

**CHAPTER 2**

 

James woke up early the next morning. Outside several aurors were going through the Lupin’s home. He supposed they were trying to find proof of whether or not the fire was an accident. The Lupins were still asleep upstairs, but when he went down the stairs and into the kitchen he found his mother was already awake and sitting at the breakfast table sipping on tea.

“Morning James,” she said. His mother’s face was lined with fatigue. He didn’t like seeing her this exhausted. Neither of his parents were young, after all. They’d had him when they were older even than some of the other older parents he knew, so they couldn’t afford to be overworked, not like a younger parent could.

“Mum, you should get some sleep. You look terrible,” he said. She paused with something between a smile and a glare and shook her head.

“Would it never occur to you to lie to me and say, ‘Oh mum, what a trooper you are. You’ve had such a rough night and yet you still look lovely’?” she asked.

“But you don’t. You look terrible,” he replied. Mrs. Potter just sighed.

“Right. Would you like some tea?” she asked. James shook his head. He hated eating this early in the day when he was at home. The late starts were one of the advantages to lazy summers with his parents.

“Do you think Dad will let me help?” he asked.

Mrs. Potter immediately shook her head. “This is auror work, dear. Even your father only gave them an account of the fire last night. He can’t really do anything.”

“But he used to work in the Ministry!” James protested.

“And so does half of our block, but this isn’t Ministry work, it’s auror work, and neither you nor your father can do anything about that,” she sipped her tea, her eyes staring through him in the way James imagined all mothers were able to do when they wanted.

“I just feel like I should be doing something,” he said quietly. Mrs. Potter set down her tea, her gaze sympathetic.

“I’m afraid there’s just not much you can do. Mind, if you want to be really useful, you’ll help me make the Lupins feel at home.” He offered her a dark look and she stared back without emotion. James sighed. He thought about replying, but he didn’t.

After a moment she sighed and reached to grab a small stack of letters. She sorted through them until she found the one she was looking for.

“Is it from Sirius?” he asked hopefully. To his disappointment she shook her head.

Sirius was James’s best friend. and had been since being put in detention together following an unfortunate Transfiguration class in their first year. James hadn’t heard a word from him all summer. His other best friend, Peter, on the other hand, had sent him letters with all sorts of news from his trip to Spain with his mother. Usually Sirius came and stayed with the Potters over the summer if his mother would let him, but she hadn’t this year.

“No, this one’s for me,” she said with a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he’ll write soon.”

“I hope so. I’m beginning to get worried,” he said.

Mrs. Potter frowned. “Me, too.”

Later, when James returned to his room to laze in wait for lunch, he took out the piece of paper that he and Sirius used to communicate with each other from his school trunk. The wooden trunk, full of all of his school supplies, lay at the foot of his bed, right by the door where it was easy to access but no one would think to look inside. James and Sirius had been using the same piece of paper for about four summers of separation and winters of secret classroom communication. When either of them wrote on the parchment, an identical script showed up on the other boy’s page until one of them swiped the page clear with their wand. The parchment was worn now, but it still worked. James looked on either side of the page to check whether Sirius had written anything to him

Nothing.

He was beginning to worry. James knew it was bad form to speak ill of someone else’s parents, but from what he had heard of Mr. and Mrs. Black, and from what he had seen of them on Platform 9 3/4, he had no reason to like either of them. Sirius had painted him a vivid picture of his family: his mother, a tempest of constant and irrational fury; his father and brother constantly appeasing her anger with obedience; the endless shouting from Sirius’s loud stand against his parents’ obsession with pure blood. James worried that Sirius’s parents had blocked James's owls this summer. He hadn’t heard anything from his best friend in weeks. Despite being an old pureblood family, Mr. and Mrs. Potter were well known for their friendliness to muggles and magical creatures, something many of the more puritanical pureblood families strongly disapproved of.

He wrote Sirius a quick note.

 

_Sirius,_

_Why haven’t you written me back? Are you alright? Has your mum locked you in one of her kinky cells? Write me back or I’ll come find you!_

_James_

_P.S. We’ve got a family staying with us. Their house burned down last night. Tell you more when you write me back._

_P.P.S. Write me back!_

 

He put the letter back on his desk and frowned. A storm cloud was drifting towards the sun. It was going to rain.

 

**~*~**

 

By the time James came back down the stairs Mrs. Lupin and her daughter were eating with his mother at their small, round table while Remus bustled around the cream kitchen counters that framed the wall and helped with the cooking. Mrs. Potter said, “I tried to convince him otherwise, but Remus insisted on helping me this morning.” She smiled dotingly at Remus, and James felt like punching him in the face.

“It’s the least I can do, Mrs. Potter,” Remus said, “You’re giving me, mum, and Althea a place to stay.” Althea, James gathered, was the name of the little girl who he assumed was Remus's sister.

“Oh, it’s no problem, Remus, none at all. In fact, we’re happy to have you. It was getting lonely here with just the three of us,” Mrs. Potter replied. Remus looked up sheepishly. James knew better than to believe her. His mother was tired and too old, quite frankly, to be putting people up like this. Plus the comment about the house being too empty stung him a little. While he knew that his parents had always wanted more than just one child, he liked to think that he was enough for them. He was, after all, dashing and handsome with lots of friends and some of the best marks in his year. They should be happy with just him. He tried hard enough so they would be.

A loud sniff turned his attention away from his mother for a moment, and for the first time that morning he got a look at Mrs. Lupin. She seemed to be in a similar state to his mother, if only a bit less forcedly cheerful. Her eyes were red and she looked like she had been crying. Althea clung onto her mother like she was the last stable thing in the world, her face half-hidden in fabric. But Remus… Remus was bouncing like a pogo stick on crack, fixing the toast and flipping the eggs like egg-flipping was his one true calling.

James hoped that he would be able to find a cynical companion in his mother, but he couldn’t read her expression: she was entertaining. Through his thoughts he heard Mrs. Lupin thanking his mother again.

“It was the least I could do. Truly, it was,” Mrs. Potter replied, gracious as ever. There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation; steam hissed from the old silver kettle. More tea, James thought. He almost moved to serve, but Remus was already rushing towards it. The moment he touched the handle, though, he leapt back, clutching at his hand like it was burning.

“Remus!” Mrs. Potter cried and immediately went to stick his hand under the water tap. More slowly, Mrs. Lupin got up herself and followed Mrs. Potter to her son. James stood up, too, if only to make himself feel like he was being useful.

Mrs. Lupin took one look at her son’s hand, glanced at the kettle and sternly told him, “You really should be careful, Remus.”

Remus looked down, abashed. “I didn’t know,” he said.

Mrs. Lupin didn’t move for a minute, her hands clutching her son’s wrists. She was blocking him from her view, but James managed to glimpse his palms where he had touched the kettle. They were pink and blistering, more like a first degree burn than any burn he would have expected to get from a kettle, even if it was boiling. “Shit… How hard did you grip that thing?” he muttered to himself. Mrs. Lupin stared at him with a horrified expression. A stern look from his mother reminded him. “Right, swearing. Sorry,” he muttered.

“Pretty hard, I guess,” Remus replied, sheepishly, his cheeks coloring and his hands shaking slightly from the pain of the burn.

“I think he needs a healing spell,” Mrs. Potter interrupted, staring at Remus anxiously. Mrs. Lupin dropped her hands and looked down, ashamed.

“I-I can’t do it. I’m a squib,” she smiled with her lips but not with her eyes and backed away so Mrs. Potter could do what she could not.

“Oh, well, of course,” Mrs. Potter said. James could tell his mother was feeling uncomfortable. Squibs were often family embarrassments. There was no right thing to say.

As quickly as Remus had been burnt, Mrs. Potter set him right with a spell. “There you are, as good as new,” she said. Remus smiled weakly. James saw thin white scars where he had touched the kettle before. He winced. Those scars reminded him of Mr. Lupin's charred and blackened skin.“Be more careful next time, alright?”

They settled down again, but this time Mrs. Potter insisted Remus sit and prodded James into helping her in the kitchen. At least if he got hurt no one else’s mother would be upset with her, he figured. “Are you going to Hogwarts next year?” she asked.

Remus began to reply but his mother cut him off, “No, Remus isn’t at Hogwarts.”

“Beauxbatons?” Mrs. Lupin shook her head. Mrs. Potter tried again, her next choice spoken with far more hesitance, “Durmstrang?” she asked. Mrs. Lupin shook her head again and Mrs. Potter pursed her lips in concern. “Is he going to a smaller school, then?”

“No, actually, Remus isn’t in a wizarding school. He’s a squib, like me. More trouble than he’s worth, sometimes,” she said, and James couldn’t tell if she was joking.

Mrs. Potter made some noises that James was sure were supposed to sound sympathetic. He snorted, trying to suppress his laughter at his mother’s discomfort. He caught Remus looking at him and turned away, hoping the other boy hadn't noticed.

“What is he doing for his education, then?” Mrs. Potter asked, James serving everyone their meal as his mother dished out the food.

“We–” she paused, her eyes filling once again before she pushed her emotion back down, “ _I_ am homeschooling him. A muggle school is insufficient for a anyone from a magical family.”

“Oh, yes, yes I see,” Mrs. Potter agreed, but once again James got the feeling that she did not, in fact, see.

“John was so good at helping Remus with his studies,” Mrs. Lupin said, her lower lip quivering. Remus made a noise. When James looked at him he was stuffing himself with scrambled eggs.

“Choked,” he said, gesturing at his throat. He managed to swallow and clear his throat. “Actually, uh, Althea’s starting at Hogwarts this year.”

“Is that right?” Mrs. Potter asked Althea who nodded shyly. She was missing her two front teeth. “Are you excited?” she asked. Once again Althea nodded. “Have you bought all your books?” Althea nodded again, then faltered halfway through her nod. Her books must have burned in the fire, James realized. Remus nudged his little sister.

“Mrs. Potter’s trying real hard to talk to you, Al. Why don’t you talk back? With words?” he whispered to her. She just stared at him for a moment, as though she was trying to tell him something that she couldn’t say out loud. Understanding whatever she was trying to tell him, Remus stared back, eyebrows raised in emphasis.

“Of course. I can’t believe I didn't realize. That was so insensitive of me. I’m so sorry, Althea,” Mrs. Potter said with a wince. Then, with a great stir, she turned to James. “Actually, James, don’t you still have your old school books?”

“Yeah,” said James with a sinking feeling.

“Why don’t you let Althea have them? As it is, they’re just sitting in your room.”

James glanced around the table. His mother’s eyes were bright and keen. Mrs. Lupin had glanced up through her lashes to look hopefully at him. Althea eyes were suddenly brimming with earnestness. Remus’s gaze was tense and still.

“I guess I could,” James said, more to convince himself than anyone else. He didn’t feel able to deny so many hopeful looks.

“Wonderful,” said Mrs. Potter. Her lips broadened by a smile, she gave her son’s shoulder a quick squeeze before settling into her chair. Finished serving, James settled into his seat. It was an unspoken agreement between her and James that she would talk and he would serve their guests – unless the guest was Sirius, who James actually enjoyed talking to. Just then the timer for one of the several dozen batches of muffins his mother had prepared went off. He didn’t know who was supposed to eat all of these muffins (he had only seen three aurors investigating outside) but cooking was his mother's favourite coping mechanism. Ironically, when she wasn’t stressed she hated to cook and always made James or his father do so in her place.

The front door slammed. James placed the last batch of cookies on the top of the icebox before turning to see who it was. Mr. Potter and one of the aurors was marching through the hallway, and neither man looked happy. Mrs. Lupin sniffed. The other man stood at the door, his arms folded severely while he stared down everyone at the breakfast table.

“Which one of you is Mary Lupin?” he asked like it was a threat. James disliked him immediately. He was a spindly man with a knobby nose and small, beady eyes. Worst of all, he looked at everyone at the table as though they were all roaches beneath his feet. James puffed up his chest without even realizing he was doing it.

Mrs. Lupin raised her arm feebly. “I am she,” she said, sounding too much like meek kitten to warrant such a threatening tone from the auror. “Who’re you?”

The man drew himself up, flaring his nostrils as he did so. “ _I_ am William Nott.”

“Mr. Nott will just be asking you a few questions, Mary. I know it’s soon, but he wants to ask you while your memory is fresh.” Mr. Potter said, looking uncomfortable to see Mrs. Lupin so distraught. He turned to Mr. Nott. “Why don’t you sit down here, Will?” he gestured at James’s spot. “James, can you get Mr. Nott something to drink? Tea or coffee, Will?”

“Coffee, please,” said Mr. Nott brusquely, sitting down.

James reached for the pot of coffee his father had made himself hours ago that morning. It served this man right to drink old coffee. He hoped it tasted as revolting as it looked.

“Milk or cream, sir? And one lump or two?” he asked, sounding as innocent as was possible for the infamous James Potter.

“I prefer it black, thanks,” Mr. Nott said. Obligingly, James handed him the lukewarm drink. Mr. Nott took one sip of it and made a face, then set it down.

“Now, Mrs. Lupin, what do you remember of the night of the fire?”

She cleared her throat anxiously before she began, resting her hand on her neck. “Well… I remember that Althea and I were downstairs in the basement. I was sewing a sweater and Althea here was listening to the radio,” she caught Remus’s eye, “And Remus was down there too, of course. He was doing his work. I home school him, you see. I’m very strict.”

“Where was Mr. Lupin?” Mr. Nott asked.

“In his study. He was writing a letter to a colleague of his, if I’m correct. He doesn’t – didn’t – tell me much about his work.”

“And what work is that, exactly?”

Mrs. Lupin glared, “I told you, I don’t know.”

Mr. Nott snorted, “You’re telling me that you were married to this man for how long–”

“It would have been eighteen years this September,” she said.

“Eighteen years, and you didn’t know what he did for a living?” Mrs. Lupin looked like she might cry. Her face had turned a sickly shade of purple that James had thought only naturally occurred in eggplants.

“Oi! She didn’t know! None of us knew! Leave her alone, will you?” Remus barked, beginning to look almost as upset as his mother.

Mr. Potter touched Nott’s shoulder, “If she didn’t know, then she didn’t know. She won’t tell you what happened if you make her cry, Will. She isn’t a criminal.” Mr. Nott looked skeptical but didn’t argue.

“Alright, then. So you didn’t know what he was writing in the study,” he sneered. “What then?”

Mrs. Lupin stilled, trying to remember. “Well, I noticed that it was getting a bit warmer, so I went to turn down the thermostat, but it was off. Summer, you know. I figured that it was just a hot night, but there weren’t any windows in the basement. Anyway, that lasted a while, and eventually I wanted to go upstairs to-to grab myself a snack from the kitchen, but the door knob was hot. I opened the door, just a bit, and there were flames all the way up the stairs. I closed the door, then. I knew I couldn’t get out that way. We were trapped.”

“And why, Ms. Lupin, did you not stop the fire with your magic? You could have cleared a pathway so you and your children could leave.” It was Mrs. Lupin’s turn to colour, anger and embarrassment reddening her face. James winced at Mr. Nott’s cruelty. He still thought of Mary as Mrs. Lupin even if her husband was dead, and evidently, so did she.

“I couldn’t,” she said stiffly.

Mr. Nott scoffed, “I think not. I learned _aguamenti_ in my Second Year at Hogwarts.”

“No, Mr. Nott, I couldn’t. I don’t have magic. I’m a squib.” At that, Mr. Nott’s expression darkened. He had to be one of those wizards that didn’t like muggle-borns and squibs, James reckoned.

“And your son? Is he a squib, too?” he sneered.

“As a matter of fact, he is,” Mrs. Lupin replied defiantly, “And Althea hasn’t even started at Hogwarts yet, so there was nothing she could have done. If you think we had anything to do with this then you’re wrong.”

“Who said I thought you had anything to do with this?” asked Mr. Nott. James leaned against the oven, arms crossed over his chest in fury. He hated people like this. Mean people, cruel people. People who liked to cause people pain just for the fun in it. He thought for a moment of Snivellus, but dismissed it. He had decided to be more civil to him this year. He wasn’t like that anymore. Lily was Snape’s friend, so if he wanted her to keep talking to him then he had to be civil, even if he was a slimy git.

“You _implied_ –” Mrs. Lupin said.

Mr. Nott cut her off. “If you didn’t have anything to do with this, then who, I ask, snapped Mr. Lupin’s wand in half? And why were there traces of magic in the ash? This was clearly a magical fire. If there was no one else in the house that night, then who but you or one of your children could have started that fire? And why would you have started a fire in your own house, unless it was your intention to kill Mr. Lupin? And finally, what were all of you doing awake at _3 in the morning_?”

As he spoke Mrs. Lupin grew paler and paler until by the end of his questions she was as white as a sheet. “His wand was snapped in half? Why would he do that?”

“My point precisely, Mrs. Lupin. Why _would_ he do that? Unless, of course, he didn’t do that at all. Now, Mrs. Lupin, was there anyone else in the house other than you, your husband and your two children?” asked Mr. Nott.

Mrs. Lupin shook her head slowly, as though she was seriously considering lying. James didn’t blame her. “We were alone,” she breathed.

“But we were downstairs the whole time,” Remus interjected. “Anyone could have apparated into our house without us knowing. Al was listening to the radio pretty loud. And I think…” He stopped suddenly and looked down at his empty plate. Mr. Nott leaned forward.

“Think what? Speak, boy!”

A hot flush came to Remus’s cheeks. James wasn’t sure if the colour was from anger or embarrassment, but Remus had to force the next words from his mouth, “He had a new group of friends, that’s all.” Mr. Nott scoffed.

“And I thought you might have something useful,” he grumbled. Under the table Remus’s hands gripped onto the fabric of his jeans, his skin turning white. He didn’t say anything though, even though it looked like he wanted to.

“Maybe you should come back tomorrow, Will,” Mr. Potter suggested.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” he snarled at Mrs. Lupin, who looked like she was about to burst into tears again. “But first, I want you to answer my question: Why were you all up so late?”

“It’s summer… We just stay up late, there’s no reason for it,” she said uncomfortably. Mr. Nott looked more satisfied with her reply, although James didn’t understand why.

“‘It’s summer.’ Of course. How did I not think of that before?” he drawled, his voice oozing sarcasm. He turned to Mr. Potter, “Thank you for your time, Thomas. Will you be coming out again later?”

Mr. Potter nodded, “Of course. I’ll bring some muffins with me, too.”

Mr. Nott scoffed, “Shouldn’t you leave that to your wife?”

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't," said Mr. Potter with a glance to his son and wife. Mrs. Potter, who had been rearranging her cutlery for much of the discussion, gripped her knife in such a way that it looked like she was about to stab Mr. Nott. James went over to her as subtly as he could and took the knife from her hand before setting it back down on the table. By the time he looked back up Mr. Nott was at the door, saying goodbye to his father.

“I hate that man. Why do you let him in the house?” Mrs. Potter asked furiously, getting up from her chair and angrily arranging pots and pans with the vivacity of a much younger woman, making lots of noise. Mrs. Lupin jumped in her seat every time they banged together. They banged together quite a lot so she looked positively twitchy.

“It’s fine, really,” said Mrs. Lupin in a small voice. Mr. and Mrs. Potter clearly didn’t hear her, however, and continued speaking to each other as though they were the only ones in the room.

“I can’t refuse him entrance. It’s his job to ask questions,” Mr. Potter said.

“And look what good that did him! He made it sound like one of them burnt down their own house!” she cried, gesturing towards the Lupins. “I wish he was a vampire.”

“What?” asked Mr. Potter.

“Then I could bar him entrance. He would have to be invited into our home before he could come in. I would just say, ‘Not invited, not you’ and he wouldn’t even be able to enter! Think on it, Thomas. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? As a matter of fact, do you know any vampires? Could you get one to bite him?”

“Evie,” said Mr. Potter, glancing to where the Lupins sat, staring silently, or trying not to stare, at the couple’s exchange. She looked in the direction of his gaze and seemed to realize where she was. James had a sudden image of them as a younger couple, his mother slender and raging at his even-tempered father with brown hair instead of grey. His mother looked down, muttering something under her breath and for a moment the image lingered. James only managed to catch something about vampires and several strings of insults that even Sirius would have envied, but gathered that she was not yet through. Mr. Potter cleared his throat and said to Mrs. Lupin, “I am sorry about Mr. Nott. He tends to be a bit, how do I say…”

“He’s a bastard,” said James.

“Eh, right,” said Mr. Potter, his cheeks flushed. Mr. Potter didn’t like swearing, especially when it came from his son, although somehow he managed to put up with it from his wife. James suspected he liked it coming from her. “Anyhow,” he continued, “if there’s anything you’d like to tell me, confidentially of course, feel free to do so. It won’t get back to Mr. Nott. If it will help the case I’ll tell one of the other aurors who will be able to handle the information with more… tact.”

“Thank you, Thomas, but I don’t believe there’s anything more to tell,” said Mrs. Lupin. Remus looked off to the side and Althea just stared as she had been doing all morning. James wondered if she could talk, or if maybe she just wasn’t very bright. Either way, her silence made him feel uncomfortable. It was unnatural for an eleven year old to be so quiet and wide-eyed. He never had been.

“Maybe, but maybe not. There has to be something, Mary, because that was not a natural fire. That fire was set by magic, and the aurors need to know who did it so they can punish whoever it was that destroyed your home and killed your husband,” said Mr. Potter gently. Mrs. Lupin closed her eyes, her face scrunched up in grief.

If she’s going to cry again, James thought, then I need to leave. He couldn’t put up with the grating sound of her sobbing any longer. “Why don’t I go serve the muffins?” he muttered.

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Potter distractedly. “Evie, why don’t you help?”

“I am not going to perform any wifely duties,” she hissed under her breath.

“Remus?” The boy in question turned quickly, surprised.

“Me?” he asked.

“That’s right,” said Mr. Potter, “Why don’t you join my son James and serve the aurors some muffins?” He glanced around and added, “And why don’t you bring, Althea, too? I think us grown-ups need a chat.”

“Uh…” said Remus.

His mother cut him off, “It’s alright, Remus. Why don’t you go?”

Remus looked unhappy about it, but he got up anyway. James couldn’t blame him: he didn’t much want him to go either. Each boy grabbed a tray in either hand while Althea grabbed just one. James couldn’t help but noticing that the other boy looked stiff, anxious to be out of his mother’s sight. “She’ll be okay,” he said. The other boy nodded, but he didn’t look too convinced.

They managed to find the auror’s base pretty quickly and set down the trays. James would be surprised if they finished the five trays of muffins in a week, much less within the day or so that they would probably be investigating. Luckily they managed to miss the aurors. He assumed they were inside the house looking for evidence.

By the time they returned to James’s Althea was covered in crumbs. James was impressed. He hadn’t even seen her grab them.

“How does she fit them all in the oven?” Remus asked.

“Expandable oven, of course,” replied James, surprised Remus didn’t already know. Remus made a noise of surprise and reached for the doorknob. Mrs. Potter was the only one left in the kitchen.

“Where’s dad?” asked James.

“He left while you were out. Mrs. Lupin is just upstairs if you want to go see her, Remus,” Mrs. Potter said kindly. Remus didn’t look like he much wanted to go, but nodded anyway. Once at the doorway, Remus lingered.

“Actually, Mrs. Potter?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

“Yes, dear?”

“Is it alright if I go upstairs?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Potter, “go ahead.”

“Thanks,” he said, and took Althea’s hand to lead her upstairs to their mother, leaving James and Mrs. Potter alone again in the kitchen. It was weird for the kitchen to suddenly be so empty after being filled with people all day. Mrs. Potter breathed into her drink, the hot air steaming up her glasses.

“Is there anything I can do?” James asked. Mrs. Potter shook her head.

“Don’t worry about me, James. Everything’s fine.” James didn’t move. She didn’t look fine. Instead of responding, James went to the sink, where the baking dishes and ingredients for her muffins still lay. With a flick of his wrist, soap and water began working their way through the dishes. He sat down next to his mother, who still stared deep into her cup of tea. He could smell the English Breakfast.

“You’re bugged by that bloke from this afternoon, aren’t you?” he asked. His mother pursed her lips.

“I’m just thinking about what your father said. He’s right, you know. There’s nothing natural about this.” Her expression was clouded over. James didn’t dare ask her what she was thinking. “Why don’t you go upstairs, James? Maybe you can get those books for Althea,” she said finally with a sigh.

“Fine.” James replied shortly. His mother clearly needed some time alone. He turned as if to leave the kitchen, but he was stopped by his mother.

“I’m not just the muffins I make,” she said. James slowed, turning where he stood at the doorframe.

“I know,” he said.

The door to his bedroom, once he reached it, was locked. Perhaps Remus was still inside getting those textbooks. But then, maybe it wasn’t locked. Maybe it was just jammed. Sometimes his door would get finicky and do that. Confused, he jiggled the knob. When that didn’t work he tried ramming his shoulder into it. The door did not open, but his shoulder certainly hurt for the effort. With a twinge of frustration, James realized he had left his wand on his dresser.

“Oi, Lupin!” he called, “Are you in there? Open the door!”

Inside his room there was a rustling noise. Something heavy sounded like it shifted, and then there were footsteps to the door. James heard the lock turn, and then finally Remus opened the door to his room, his face coloured by a guilty flush.

“The door must have locked, sorry,” he said.

“What were you doing in here?” James asked.

Remus glanced backwards into the room, “I just thought I’d look for the textbooks for Althea,” he said and retreated into James’s room. James followed him. His room looked the same, ridding James of his immediate suspicion that it had been ransacked. Remus gathered the books he needed from the shelf.

“You weren’t having a go at it in my room, were you?” James asked. Remus stopped what he was doing.

“I- what?”

James made a suggestive gesture in response.

“No, no I wasn’t,” said Remus. He pulled the last book from the shelf with surprising force. Remus picked the rest of the books up from the floor. “Thanks for lending Althea the books,” he said, looking and sounding noticeably more disgruntled than when James had first walked into the room.

“Yeah,” said James. First James, then Remus, nodded uncomfortably at each other, and Remus left the room. As soon as he was gone James made sure to close and lock the door. The room was almost the same, but still different. James did a tight circle within the perimeter to see what had been touched. Nothing on his bedside table looked moved. He checked his stash of dirty magazines. The ladies on the covers winked suggestively at him, but none were missing. All that had been touched, it seemed, was James’s bed and the bookshelf. The sheets were wrinkled with use, though James couldn’t say for sure that he hadn’t done that himself, and the books were slanted the wrong way. James got up from where he kneeled by the bookshelf, eyes narrowed at the books.

Nothing. It must have been nothing. Remus had come into the room, taken the books for his sister, sat on the bed, and then left. But then, James wondered, why had he locked the door?

James walked to the door, then stopped, and turned back to his bookshelf, carefully checking his shelf for any missing books, but no, they were all there, every one.

He was being paranoid, he thought to himself, and stood once more, this time leaving his room. Instead of turning to go down the stairs to his mother, James hesitated at the top of the stairs and went to the room where the Lupins were staying. The door was closed, and the voices were muffled through the wood. James reached for his wand in his pocket, and realized it was still in his room. He waffled for a moment, unsure of whether he should really do this and listen in on the other family’s conversation or not, but of course James trotted quickly back to his room to get his wand from his bedside table.

His wand was three inches left of where he’d left it. Before, it had been placed with haphazard direction, but now it lay parallel to the edge of his bedside table. Remus had taken his wand, and then put it back down again. Perhaps it was just curiosity that had made him pick it up, but Remus also could have asked. James picked up his wand. Somehow there was already a strange feeling to the wood. James felt along the grain of his wand. Unsure of what made him do it, he went to his bookshelf, again flipping through the books. This time, however, he settled on a more advanced book of spells from his last year at Hogwarts. He knew the spell, but it was just the incantation he was having trouble remembering. James paged through the book with his index finger, finally settling on the page with the spell he needed. His book laid flat in the palm of one hand, he held his wand in the other.

He flicked his wrist and said, “ _Prior Incanto._ ” A jetty of water should have burst from the tip of his wand. It didn’t. Instead, his wand lit at the tip and glowed for a few moments before the light disappeared.

James stood still a few minutes in his room, then looked at his wand. _Lumos._ The spell was simple, he had learned it in first year, but that hadn’t been the last spell he had performed. Perhaps someone else had used his wand, but only the Lupins were without their own wands, and of the Lupins, only Remus had been in his room. But Mrs. Lupin and Remus were both squibs.

James set his wand back on his side table and sat. Mrs. Lupin and Remus both said they were squibs. Why would either of them lie about that? he wondered. Or maybe he had used _lumos_ but he had just forgotten. Perhaps it had been a quick thing, a quick spell while looking for his socks in the morning or something of the sort. Frowning, James stood up again and paced, then hastily stuffed his wand into his pocket once more. If someone else was using his wand, he didn’t fancy them getting another opportunity any time soon.

Should he mention something to the Lupins? To his parents? Neither of them would believe him, he knew. They would think he was trying to make trouble. James had tragically worn down his luck with them a bit. He remembered suddenly the pig incident of two years before. His parents had been very unhappy to discover that the neighbourhood’s mysteriously missing pig was hidden under a silencing spell in their attic being fed cake batter and honey. James had been the lead investigator of the hunt, and the neighbourhood had been in an uproar for days. No, rather he would keep this to himself for now.

James left his room, unsure of what to do with himself. He felt a nervous energy in himself, like there was something that had to be done, but his mother wanted him out of her way and his schoolwork was a task for his last nights of summer. Not knowing himself what he planned to do, standing there in the upstairs hallway, James knocked on the door to the guest bedroom.

Mrs. Lupin answered. “Why, hello James. What is it? Is there something your mother needs?”

“No, nothing she needs. But, I was wondering if Remus wanted to come out for a bit. Play some quidditch?”

Mrs. Lupin stiffened. “James, Remus… he can’t…”

Of course, Remus was a squib. James frowned, surprised at how much difficulty he had trying to think of a game that didn’t involve magic. “What about… exploding snap?”

“You… need a wand…” said Mrs. Lupin uncomfortably, to James’s embarrassment. He had felt quite certain that you didn’t need magic to play, vaguely remembering games with his father before Hogwarts (although, of course, James had had magic even then). Unsure of what else to suggest, the list of games he knew all so thoroughly magical, James stood at the doorway for a moment, struck dumb.

After a moment of this, Mrs. Lupin hesitantly suggested, “Chess?”

James brightened. There was a chess set just downstairs. “Yes, would he like to play chess?”

Slowly, Mrs. Lupin nodded, “Why, yes, I’m sure he would love to play. How kind of you to offer.” She turned around, presumably facing her children though James couldn’t see. “Remus, did you hear that? James just offered to play chess with you. How would you fancy that?”

The pause between her question and Remus’s answer was far too long. It was a bit of a hit to James’s pride to realize that Remus didn’t particularly want to play with him at all.

“Alright,” said Remus and James could hear some shuffling on the other side of the door, followed by a quiet murmuring. “Althea wants to join us,” Remus said after that.

“Aright,” said James, using just as much enthusiasm as Remus had just moments before.

James led Remus and Althea to the living room, checking his pocket quickly before pulling his wizarding chess set from the side table. His wand was still in his pocket. He was setting up the game when he stopped, looking up. “You know how to play?” he asked cautiously.

“I’m a squib, not a muggle,” Remus replied gruffly.

“Sure, sure,” said James with an embarrassed shrug. He knew almost nothing about squibs at all. The two boys settled down on opposite ends of the board, both on their knees on either end of the small table entering the living room. Althea loomed behind Remus, hands shyly beneath her bottom and watching the game carefully. “Do you, uh, like this game too?” James asked Althea.

Shyly, she nodded.

“Great,” said James, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. In the other room, he heard the quiet noises of his mother drinking tea and flipping through pages of her book. James thought of all the other things he could have done by himself right now - reading, going on a walk, writing Sirius, asking anyone else in the neighbourhood to join him in a game of quidditch (really, anyone else). He sighed. He’d done this to himself, and he still hadn’t quite figured out why.

As each boy made their first moves, James attempted to make some conversation. “So, you like quidditch?”

“Not really, no,”said Remus, moving a pawn.

“Why not?” asked James, as surprised as he always was when he found someone who didn’t.

“I just prefer other things, I guess,” he said, waving for James to make his move.

“Like what?” asked James.

Remus shrugged. “Reading, mostly. And I like to keep fit.”

“You play sport?”

“Sure. When I have to.”

James glanced at the other boy, taking in for the first time the other boy’s bigness. He looked a bit like a lug, really. Muscular, like he spent most of his time exercising. He suspected that the other boy did more to keep fit than he let on.

“But not quidditch?”

“No, not quidditch. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Squib, remember? Why, is it your favourite sport or something?” Remus asked.

“It is. I’m the chaser for Gryffindor,” said James, trying not to boast. Remus nodded, less impressed than James would have hoped.

“You must be good, then,” Remus offered nonetheless. James shrugged.

“One day I’d like to be chaser for England,” James added, but Remus just nodded, moving his piece once it was his turn again. The boys lapsed into silence as they focused on the game at hand. Remus wasn’t too bad, James realized begrudgingly, though he was better. James usually was. It was what always got him into trouble.

“So,” James began, unsure of how to bring up his niggling question in a way that would get him the kinds of answers he was hoping for. “What kinds of things do you read?”

“Anything I can,” Remus replied easily, suddenly seeming more comfortable than he had for the rest of the conversation.

“Like?”

“Histories, biographies, fiction.”

“Books about magic?”

“If I can get my hands on them. Not that it does me much good, the way I am, but I still think I should know.” The corner of Remus’s mouth twitched unhappily.

“Are they hard to get a hold of? Books on magic?”

“We lost our father’s collection a while back, so since then it has been.” At that, James looked up to notice Althea again for the first time in a long time.

“I noticed you’d gone through some of mine,” James said with forced nonchalance. Remus paused, looking up at him. “It’s no big deal,” he said, placing one of his knights.

“I was just looking for Althie’s book.”

“Someone also used my wand,” James said evenly.

“What are you suggesting?” asked Remus, sitting back with his arms folded.

James shook his head. “Haven’t the foggiest. You’re a squib or I’d be accusing you since you were in my room last.”

Then, as if from nowhere, Remus’s little sister spoke. “It was me. I used it.” Remus looked back at his sister in surprise. “I wanted to practice,” the quiet girl continued. “I was supposed to buy my wand next week…” her lower lip quivered, and James felt ashamed.

“You can still get your wand next week. I’m sure there’s something we can do to help,” he said, meaning, of course, that his parents could buy her things for her. Remus’s eyes took on a fierce sheen.

“Thank you, but I’m sure we can manage on our own.”

James nodded, “Sure.”

To his surprise, it was Remus who knocked over James’s king at game’s end. “Good game,” James said cordially.

“Sure,” replied Remus.

 

**~*~**

 

That night James was sleeping when the doorbell rang. The house was quiet, but the doorbell’s ring roused its sleeping inhabitants. Not far behind James padding down the stairs was his mother. “It’s okay, I’ll get it,” he said, and after a sleepy moment of hesitation she plodded back to the room she shared with his father.

The doorbell rang again. Whoever was ringing it was impatient, James thought. He walked more quickly. Who else would be at the door this late? Before he opened it he turned at the sound of creaking stairs. It was Remus dressed in his pyjamas.

“You’re up,” Remus commented.

“I’ve got it, you can go back to bed,” James replied.  

The doorbell rang again, and this time James opened the door. There, just as he had hoped so desperately for all these weeks, was Sirius Black.

 


	3. The Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal son returns. Estranged, and without anywhere else to go, a closeted Sirius comes to James's house. Meanwhile, Remus receives the first letter.

“Sirius!” James cried, and flung his arms around his best friend. Sirius seemed frozen in shock, his arms held out in front of him stiffly before he relaxed into the hug. “Mate, you’re looking a bit pale. Have you forgotten quidditch season starts in a few weeks?”

“Yeah, I guess,” said Sirius without enthusiasm. James gestured at where Remus stood on the stairs. “Remus, this is my best mate Sirius. Sirius, this is Remus. His family’s house burnt down last night so he’s staying with us for a while.”

They still didn’t say anything. “Oi, do you two know each other or is there another reason for the silence?”

There was something in Sirius’s eyes that he didn’t quite recognize. There was a look in Remus’s eyes, too, that was just as strange.

“Mate, I was joking. Just tell me what you’re doing here. Not that I’m unhappy about it, but I wasn’t expecting you. I haven’t heard from you all summer.”

Sirius shifted where he stood and looked up, oddly, at Remus. “I got disinherited.”

James was too shocked to ask anything but, “What? When? How?”

“A few days ago officially, but it’s been a bit of a tough summer.” He cleared his throat. “Regulus became a Death Eater.” James cursed under his breath. Regulus was Sirius’s little brother.

“Why didn’t you write me? I would have been able to do… something,” James said anxiously, desperately wanting to fix it. Sirius was his best friend. He had never gotten on well with his parents, but James couldn’t imagine it being so bad that it couldn’t be fixed. Sirius shook his head.

“There was nothing you could have done. Thanks, though.”

As quiet as he was, James still jumped a little when he heard Remus speak. “What happened? What did you do?”

Sirius shrugged. “Can we just go to sleep? I’ll tell you in the morning, I promise, but it’s just that–”

“Of course,” James cut in. “You’ll sleep in my room. We’ll get out the cot. I hope you don’t mind; the Lupins took our guest bedroom.”

“Sorry,” said Remus.

“I don’t care about the room, mate,” Sirius said and James believed him. Large bags hung beneath his eyes and his hair, usually perfectly ruffled, was lank and wild.

“I’ll get the cot ready,” James said, “Do you have any stuff you want me to take up?” Sirius shook his head.

“James, it’s fine. I’ll sleep on the floor,” Sirius replied.

From upstairs, James heard his mother’s creaking footsteps. “James?” she said from above, “Who is it?”

“It’s Sirius,” he said. Mrs. Potter’s steps became quicker as she rushed down the stairs, side-stepping around Remus. A giant grin on her lips, Mrs. Potter threw open her arms for the waiting boy. Her eyes were tired from the wake-up, but not as tired as Sirius’s were.

“Sirius! How wonderful! You should have told us you were coming or I would have made you a bed! I think we have some muffins left over– why don’t I get you one while we all have a chat.”

“I’m really quite tired, actually,” Sirius replied, “I was hoping that maybe I could go to sleep–”

“Of course, but first we must catch up,” said Mrs. Potter. She was beaming, and from the way Sirius hesitated, James knew he couldn’t say no to her, not when she looked so happy to see him. James’s parents had both always had a soft spot for Sirius, ever since that first summer when he stayed with them, small and thrilled by everything about the Potters and their large, roomy house on their bright, openly magical street. They would do anything for him, and in turn Sirius would do anything for them. So, he couldn’t say no to Mrs. Potter.

Sirius hesitated, “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

Mrs. Potter pulled him into another hug. “I’ve been wondering when I would see you again, Sirius. We’ve all missed you.” Sirius was looking thoroughly embarrassed, though clearly pleased, by the time Mrs. Potter stepped away. “Look at you. You’ve grown. Hasn’t he grown, James?”

“Er…” said James, who hadn’t been away from him long enough to be able to properly tell. “I guess?”

“Never you mind. Of course you’ve grown. Come now, let’s go get you some tea. And a muffin. James, will you be a good boy and–”

“Yes, mum,” said James. He glanced at Sirius in amusement, who just shrugged.

“I guess I’ll go upstairs, then…” muttered Remus, shyly.

Mrs. Potter looked to him in surprise. She seemed to have forgotten him. She glanced at Sirius, as though to ask if he wanted Remus there, but Sirius looked away. “No, it’s fine. You can stay,” said Sirius weakly.

“I can go…” Remus protested uncomfortably. Sirius shook his head.

“No,” he said, “Stay.”

James stared at his guest and his friend, confused. He would have let Remus go.

Remus loosened his grip on the railing, which James suddenly noted had been very tight, and followed them to the kitchen. While Mrs. Potter, Remus, and Sirius settled at the round kitchen table at the centre of the room, James began warming up the muffins and making the tea, seeing how excited his mother was to speak with Sirius.

Once the tea boiled, James joined everyone at the table. His mother had, by now, gotten to the topic at hand.

“How did you get here?”

“Muggle buses, mostly.” James supposed that his friend hadn't been able to get to get his apparition license over the summer after all, even though both of them had discussed it nonstop before leaving for their summer holidays. James had failed his first test nearly a month ago, and was waiting now to take it again.

“When did you leave?”

“It’s been a few days,” Sirius said for the second time that night, fingering the sides of his teacup.

“Days? Sirius, if it’s been days, where have you been? Why didn’t you come to us first thing. You know you’re always welcome,” said Mrs. Potter, squaring her shoulders with the tea in indignation.

“I just needed some time to think,” said Sirius, his sentences clipped.

Mrs. Potter contemplated him for a second. James imagined that she was taking in his unkempt appearance, the slightly soggy smell that emanated from his leather jacket. Her voice was quieter when she spoke again. “Sirius, what happened?” asked Mrs. Potter, her face full of concern for the boy who was almost her son. “Please, tell us. You’re like family to us.” Remus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, noticeably feeling like an outsider at this table.

“There’s not much to tell,” Sirius protested weakly. Mrs. Potter frowned.

“You don’t need to be afraid with us, Sirius. It’ll be alright.”

“You don’t even know what happened,” he whispered, his voice throaty. He looked away, “How can you know that it will be okay?” James looked at his best friend of six years. It scared him to see Sirius like this, all worn down and beaten. Even at the worst of times, Sirius never let anyone see him this upset, not even James. James pulled himself up a little. He needed to be strong for Sirius. It was what Sirius had always done for him.

“Sirius, remember that night in the Forbidden Forest?” James’s mother looked at him in alarm. James cringed internally – it must have been his father that had handled that letter home. Sirius nodded. “Do you remember what I said?” Sirius nodded again. “Nothing’s changed since then.” Sirius gave him the wisp of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked down.

“Thanks, mate.”

Mrs. Potter pursed her lips, “I’m going to pretend I did not hear what I just heard for the time being. Just know, Sirius, that you’re like a son to me and even though it wasn’t asked for,” this comment was pointed at James, “You have my permission to stay here whenever and for as long as you need. If there’s anything any of us can do for you, all you have to do is ask.”

“Thank you, Mrs. P,” replied Sirius huskily. He gripped his cup weakly, letting the heat from the tea warm his fingers. The timer for the muffins rang, and James got himself up.

“Damn muffins,” he muttered before bringing them warmed up out of the oven. He transferred them to a cooling rack and brought the rack onto the table so that Mrs. Potter could cut and butter them before passing them out. The warm, steady glow of the kitchen lights shone warmly on Mrs. Potter’s face. The kitchen was the only bright spot in the house, the night had engulfed them so completely.

“The whole summer had been bad,” Sirius finally began. “Especially after Regulus became a Death Eater, stupid git. He’s too young. Anyway, I’ve always had friends in London, muggle friends, but my mother never knew about them. She caught me hanging out with one, and what with the Death Eater thing, they’re big fans, my parents, and she just thought it was unacceptable. It was stupid, really stupid, but because of it she blasted me off the damn tree,” he looked to James, “Happy now?”

James was dumbfounded, “You were disinherited because you were with a muggle?”

“Well, that and a couple other things, but that was the gist of it,” Sirius replied. James called Mrs. Black several names that he knew his mother was too polite to say in front of the other woman’s son, even if he was disinherited.

After a moment of staring Mrs. Potter asked, “Sirius, if you don’t mind… I hate to ask, but… this muggle? Were you just having tea or….”

Sirius fingered his drink, staring wistfully into the reddish brown liquid. Somehow, his cheeks managed to pale and blush at the same time, “No, we weren’t just having tea,” he glanced quickly around the table, “We were… kissing.” He let out a breath. “I was kissing a muggle, so she disowned me.”

Remus had blanched, Mrs. Potter looked at Sirius pityingly, and James couldn’t decide whether he was proud of his friend or irritated that he got caught. Either way, he thought, Sirius had needed to get out of that house, and now was as good a time as any. Sirius couldn’t seem to get his eyes out of his cup. “And that’s the story. That’s the whole thing. Can we change the topic now?” he pleaded. Mrs. Potter patted him on the back, her eyes kind.

“Of course,” she said, and began telling him instead about their neighbour’s evil cat.

It was almost one in the morning when they went to bed. It didn’t take long for James to set up the cot for Sirius next to his twin bed. For once Sirius was quiet before bed. Usually he would be full of plans for mischief and magic, but tonight he was silent. James lay awake for a while in the silence before sleep took him away.

Sirius lay stiffly on the cot beside him, unable to sleep. His eyes were closed but images kept flashing through his head, not the least of these his best friend lying shirtless in the bed beside his own. He considered waking James for a moment but decided against it. Instead, wearing a pair of James’s bright blue pyjamas he got quietly out of bed and climbed out the window and onto the roof. James’s roof was at a perfect tilt; they had spent countless nights on it talking until dawn. He almost wished that he could do so with James tonight, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him up, nor did he know what he would tell him if he did. He couldn’t tell him the truth, so there was little else for him to say.

The stars twinkled. He had always been skeptical about words like ‘twinkling’ and ‘glittering’, especially when it came to stars. He thought it an attempt to make from the stars more than they were. But whenever he watched them for too long, or sometimes even just for a little, the lights sometimes seemed to flicker in a manner akin to twinkling.

“What are you looking at?” someone asked from a few meters away on the other side of the roof. Sirius turned. It appeared he wasn’t the only one still awake.

Remus was also wearing James’s pyjamas, the bottoms badly matched with an ironic t-shirt featuring the moving image of a wizard band. Remus was leaning over to look at him, but Sirius could tell that he was terrified of falling off. He never would have told James, who had practically grown up on this roof, but Sirius had also been afraid once, too.

“The stars,” Sirius replied. No longer afraid of the fall he got up and walked to where Remus sat on the edge, his fingers futilely gripping the tiles. “What are you doing still up?”

Remus shrugged and pointed across the road at the frame of a house, which looked now more like an outline of wood and ashes. “That was my house,” he said.

“How long this time?” asked Sirius.

Remus sighed, “Seven months, two weeks and a day. In a few weeks we’ll have a new one. I hate moving.”

“Bugger,” said Sirius, “That’s depressing. Do you have any idea what happened?”

Remus shrugged, looking away. “Not really. I wish everyone would stop asking me. Why does everyone think I would know?”

“You were in the house,” Sirius pointed out, “and your mother’s not exactly the most helpful person around, from what I hear.”

“It’s just she doesn’t… get it.”

Sirius nodded in understanding. “How’s your dad? I bet he didn’t like that fire burning all of his toys.”

“He’s dead,” Remus said. His face was carefully blank, but Sirius knew him well enough to know that the blankness was only a mask. Before he did it he wondered if Remus would throw him off or deny that the summer before had even happened, but when he put his big hand over Remus’s, the other boy locked his fingers with Sirius’s and squeezed. Maybe it was a disease like the muggle psychiatrists said, but the other boy’s hand in his set his heart racing. Even if last summer had only been a fling in St. Mawes, seeing Remus again made it seem like the flurry of memories had been real instead of something he had just imagined. He hadn’t expected to see him again, after all. If he hadn’t, he wasn’t sure if he still would have remembered Remus’s name twenty years from now, but here he was.

“I’m sorry,” said Sirius.

“Don’t be,” Remus replied, his face still blank and his grip growing tighter, “He was a bastard.” Sirius didn’t really know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet, waiting for Remus to say something instead. Suddenly his nose began to feel itchy but Sirius didn’t want to move his hand so he instead tried twitching his nose instead of scratching it.

Remus caught him out of the corner of his eye and laughed, “What are you doing?”

“My nose itches,” he said.

“I won’t stop you, then,” said Remus, releasing Sirius’s hand. Reluctantly, Sirius reached up to his nose and scratched. “Remember I told you last summer that my dad was getting into a bad crowd?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius, putting down his hand. It sat awkwardly just centimetres from Remus’s, and he wondered what would happen if he were to move it just a little bit closer.

“Well, he joined them officially. He got the dark mark and everything.”

“Voldemort?” Sirius whistled. Remus winced.

“They say he can find you if you say his name,” Remus said.

Sirius guffawed, “That’s bullshit. If that were true he’d be able to find you when you said You-Know-Who as well. He’s not so stupid that he hasn’t figured out by now that that’s what people call him.” Remus shivered.

“Sometimes I wonder what I would do to him if I could ever get my hands on him, but there’s nothing that I can think of that’s good enough,” said Remus, his lips drawn into a thin line.

“I know what I would do,” said Sirius, “I would kill him.”

Remus turned and looked at Sirius sharply, “You don’t want that. You wouldn’t want to kill. You’re too good a person, Si.” Sirius thought of Snivellus in invisible clothes, hanging with his underwear showing, with his hair died green and his potions inexplicably destroyed, and the countless others who he had teased or bullied or played with and then thrown away. James had seemed to think that all of their pranking was wrong and cruel ever since spring, and while Sirius had never thought of himself as evil – he was a Gryffindor, after all – he had never been fool enough to think of himself as actually good. He felt flattered that Remus thought so, especially after hearing all of his stories, but he couldn’t help feeling skeptical. Too good to be a murderer was a very low bar.

“I don’t know about that,” Sirius said. “I am a homosexual.” He grinned. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Very funny,” he replied sarcastically.

“Well, you know what they say about Jesus. Jesus said no to sodomy,” Sirius continued, enjoying the look of disgust on Remus’s face. “Aw, don’t look so upset Remy. After all, it only applies to you half of the time, right? The other half you’re chasing girls like the rest of them.”

Again, Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s not a choice, like I wake up one day and decide, hey, today I’m going to like girls. It depends on the person. I’m not some sort of horn dog that wants to shag everything on four legs.”

“I on the other hand, am definitely one of them horny dogs,” Sirius winked, “It’s in my name, see? Sirius? That’s the dog star.”

“A dog star? Really?” Remus asked, a smile on his lips. It was small, but it was something. Sirius loved it when Remus smiled: it was like before, when he wasn’t smiling, all the world was dark, but now that he smiled, everything was bright and good and okay. James’s smile was different. It was never far away, even when he was upset. Sirius knew that a good joke or prank would always be able to make him smile again. When he did smile it was like the sun blazing out over the horizon, bright and hot and totally unstoppable.

“Yeah,” said Sirius. He pointed up at the sky to where his constellation was found, “That’s me. My family has a thing for constellation names. Orion, Regulus, Sirius.”

“That’s kind of nice,” Remus said, his voice almost wistful. “A family made up of stars.”

Sirius laughed, “You make it sound poetic, but we both know my family is crazy.”

“Bat shit, but so is mine. At least there’s poetry in your family’s madness. Not like me and mine.” He glanced at Sirius quickly, then cleared his throat. “So, you ever going to tell him?”

His question confused Sirius for a moment. “Tell who what?” Remus’s little smile was confused somehow, it was mixed with a little frown.

“James.”

“What am I supposed to tell him?” Sirius asked.

Remus just stared. “That you like him?” Sirius winced.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought and consideration, and at the moment I think I’ll tell him _never_ ,” Sirius said. Just the thought of telling James made him feel like his entrails were being pulled out of his body.

“But he deserves to know–”

“Why? It’s not like it would make a difference anyway. He’s still in love with that girl, Lily.” Sirius bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to show how upset he was. He got the attraction, he really did. She was a long-legged red head with a jiggly chest. Guys liked that. He had just always hoped that his guy wouldn’t. Unfortunately, by puberty James had showed clear signs of devotion to the temple that was woman, and so Sirius had pretended.

Remus gave him one of his looks, one of those pained ones that made Sirius want to fix everything, but looked away before Sirius could hold his gaze. “It’s okay,” Sirius tried to reassure Remus, but even he could hear how false his words sounded.

“No,” said Remus tersely, leaning back on his hands and staring straight in front of him at the stars, eyes fixed and focused. “It’s not okay.”

“Well, at least I’m not depriving myself of anything,” Sirius deflected cheekily, nudging Remus with his elbow. “Eh? Speaking of which, what have you been up to over the last year? Or, should I say, who?”

Remus glared, unamused. “Don’t try and change the topic.”

“But I hate the topic. Can we please just change the topic? This one is more fun,” he winked.

“You’ll have to face it some time,” Remus replied.

“Ah, yes,” said Sirius, “but that is then and this is now. Okay, fine, I’ll go first. There aren’t a lot of queers at Hogwarts, and I thought I’d exhausted them all over the last year or two, but what do you know? It turns out I was wrong. Lucky for me we’re all pretty hush hush about it or James would already know by now. Anyways, most of my old friends are all coupled up now and strictly faithful, but there were two new fellows who I had a lot of fun with on and off. See? I told. Now it’s your turn.”

“It sounds like your year was very… eventful,” said Remus.

Sirius shrugged, “Maybe. So? How many? Or just one? Is it a boy? Or a girl? What do they look like?”

Remus blushed and looked away, “Erm, well, there was sort of… no one.”

Sirius scoffed, “You’re hiding them from me aren’t you? Because there’s no way you didn’t at least get in a kiss, not with you being as cute as you are.” Remus shook his head. “What about the one who fancies you? The girl? Alyssa?”

“Nope. No one since summer,” he replied.

A grin flitted over Sirius’s face. “Summer, eh? Well, it’s summer now. It’s about time we fixed that, don’t you think?”

Remus’s blush grew both in size and degree, and he shook his head vigorously, his eyes wide in what could be horror. “N-n-no! My mother is on the other side of that wall, and James! James is– his whole _family_ is underneath us, in this house! And what about James?”

Even though Sirius knew, logically, that he was exhausted by now after so many nights of worry and fear and no sleep, the thought of kissing made him suddenly awake. It would be fun to kiss Remus now because it was fun to kiss, and Remus was very good at kissing.

“Come on, what will one little kiss hurt?” he whispered into Remus’s ear. His words were apparently convincing, because a moment later their lips were together on top of the house beneath a sea of stars.

 

**~*~**

 

James had to remind himself to be compassionate that morning. Sirius was still sleeping for hours after James had already woken up and it was his duty as a friend to let him sleep because he was so very tired. He kept that up until ten, at which point he shook Sirius awake and lead him down to breakfast. By the time Sirius was dressed and made his way downstairs Mrs. Potter, Mrs. Lupin, Remus, Althea, James, and Mr. Potter were all eating breakfast. A small, plump woman with a soft face, Mrs. Lupin didn’t look like she could hurt a fly, especially now with her face still red with the last day’s crying. However, Sirius realized with a small rush of fear that Mrs. Lupin and Althea would both recognize him from St. Mawes. He and Remus hadn’t even considered them the night before.

“Good to see you, Sirius,” said Mr. Potter over his newspaper. Usually he would have said something along the lines of, ‘I trust you’ve been well?’ or ‘You had a good journey here, I hope,’ but Sirius knew that today Mr. Potter knew full well that neither statement was true.

“You too, sir,” Sirius replied. Even from him, Mr. Potter commanded the sort of respect that demanded the use of an honorific.

“Sirius, I would like you to introduce you to Mrs. Lupin, Remus’s mother, and Althea, his little sister. She’s going to Hogwarts next year,” said Mr. Potter by way of introduction, folding his large newspaper down just enough so that they could see his face over the ungainly sheets of paper.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said to Mrs. Lupin, giving her his hand to shake. Mrs. Lupin looked at his outstretched hand warily before she took it with a sour look on her face.

“Nice to meet you, too,” she replied slowly. Sirius waved briefly at Remus’s wide-eyed little sister, hoping his discomfort wasn’t too apparent to the Potters. Luckily, none of them seemed to be paying too much attention.

“I hope you like breakfast, dear. James and I made you pancakes,” Mrs. Potter added, gesturing to the spread of pancakes, lemon and sugar on the table. Sirius grinned.

“Aw, wow! I love pancakes!” he exclaimed, grabbing a plate from the cupboard and heaping the food onto them before rolling the pancakes and stuffing them in his mouth. “This is great! Thanks!” He found a place for himself at the Potter’s table, which always managed to be just large enough for as many people as were sitting at it. “How long has everyone been up?”

“Thomas has been up since about seven or so, and the rest of us have been up since about eight,” she said, and Sirius caught James’s scowl to his left. Remus, meanwhile, didn’t look too bothered; he sipped his warm milk nonchalantly, only looking up occasionally from his book to glance at Sirius.

“What are you reading?” Sirius asked. Remus glanced up from the book as though surprised, then looked back down to check its title. Remus brought the book up so Sirius could see its title, too lazy to tell him himself. “One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi,” Sirius read. “Why are you reading that?”

Remus glanced warily at James, who was now looking at him quite attentively, “It’s Althea’s,” he said vaguely.

James might have responded, but his attention slipped to his parents’ conversation beside them. “The Ministry has been having a busy week,” Mr. Potter was saying, “They asked me to come in and help with a few things. I would have said no, but I wanted to talk to them about the fire anyway, so I told them I would.”

“Thank you again, Thomas,” Mrs. Lupin said, her voice heavy with grief.

“Not at all, Mary. I expect you would do the same for me, were I in your situation,” he said firmly.

Mrs. Lupin looked unsure, but still she replied, “Yes, yes of course.” She opened her mouth as though to say something more, but whatever she had to say was interrupted by owls flying in from the window. There were owls for Mrs. Potter, James, Mrs. Lupin, and another for Remus.

“The owls came late today,” Mr. Potter commented.

“Your paper was on time,” said Mrs. Potter.

“Indeed,” Mr. Potter replied, his eyes carefully watching everyone open their letters. Mrs. Potter opened hers quickly. It wasn’t long.

“Beatrice invited us over for dinner next weekend, dear,” she said after quickly scanning the letter’s contents.

“Do I have to come?” asked James.

“James,” Mrs. Potter scolded.

Whatever was in Mrs. Lupin’s letter made her rub her eyes as if she were crying, but this morning she must have been out of tears because her eyes were dry. Remus stared at his own letter with a strange expression on his face. “May I be excused?” he asked, sounding distant.

Mrs. Potter glanced at him absently, “Of course, dear. You don’t need to ask.”

James looked up briefly from scanning his own letter. “Pete says the seafood in Alicanté is making him sick.” He snorted as Remus left the table hurriedly, clutching his own letter in his hands. Watching him go, Sirius was overcome by curiosity. If he followed, Remus would surely let him read whatever was on that paper.

“I need to do some school work,” Sirius lied lamely. Mrs. Potter looked at him strangely, but didn’t say anything. James looked up from his mail and abandoned it on the table with a curious expression.

“I think I’ll go, too,” he said, and followed Sirius up the stairs.

“I’m glad you boys have taken such an interest in your school work,” Mrs. Potter’s voice carried up the stairs, but they were already gone.

Remus was sitting on one of the twin beds in the Potter guest room, staring at the letter as if it were a bomb instead of a sheet of paper. Sirius closed the door behind him, unaware of James at his heels. “What is it?” he asked. Hurriedly, Remus folded the paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Nothing. We should probably go back downstairs–” he began just as James opened the door and sidled inside.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Remus got a letter,” Sirius said, pointing to the pocket where Remus had hidden it.

“So?” asked James, unimpressed.

“So, he won’t show it to me.”

“Who’s it from?” asked James.

“It’s not interesting–” Remus protested. James shared a quick glance with Sirius.

“It looks pretty interesting to me. You rushed up the stairs pretty fast. You’ve made me curious,” James said, his hand outstretched with that wicked grin that Sirius knew usually meant trouble. Remus shook his head emphatically, and Sirius noticed that Remus looked terrified. There was something in that letter that he didn’t want to share. Sirius wondered if the letter was from an ex-boyfriend. “It’s not nice to make a fellow so curious and then do nothing about it,” James continued.

“Maybe we should leave it,” Sirius said. “He doesn’t have to show it to us if he doesn’t want to.” Remus shot him an appreciative glance, but James frowned.

“Come on, Lupin, hand it over. What could be so bad that you can’t show your new friends?”

Remus scoffed. “My ‘new friends’ don’t need to see my mail.” He stood, his hand placed protectively over his pocket. He was taller than James, the shortest between the three of them, so the move seemed aggressive. James stood straighter to make up for the mismatch. Remus attempted to move past him but James blocked his exit. Gently, Sirius rested a hand on James’s shoulder, but James shrugged him off. Remus’s jaw was clenched, his eyes darting around the small room. He made a move to dart for the door, but James again put himself in Remus’s way. The other boy, panicked, tried to shove James but James slipped through his shove, trying to fish into Remus’s pocket to get a glimpse of what was inside. Remus turned his body away, struggling to keep his pocket covered, but James was already sliding his fingers inside. Desperately Remus elbowed James, landing his hit on the boy’s cheek and James’s head snapped back from the force of the hit.

“James!” Sirius cried, rushing over to his friend. “Remus, what were you thinking?” James wasn’t too hurt, just a bruise swelling on his cheek, but no one hurt his friends, much less James. He stood, using his height to overpower the other boy, and thrust out his hand.

“I–” Remus stammered, but James cut him off.

“Not good enough, Lupin. Give it up,” Remus winced as though stung. He looked to Sirius for confirmation, but Sirius’s face, once sympathetic, was now firm. This time when James went into his pocket to take the letter Remus just looked down at the ground, his face stony. Sirius looked over James’s shoulder to read it. It said:

 

_Remus Lupin,_

_I know what you did._

_You know who_

_P.S. It won’t be long._

 

Remus looked away, ashamed and terrified, and, Sirius thought, near to tears. He didn’t understand why. Actually, he didn’t understand the letter. “What does it mean?”” he asked, “What did you do?”

“Did you hit someone else in the face? That might have gotten them angry,” James added irritably.

Remus just shook his head, “That was an accident.”

“It didn’t look like an accident,” James muttered.

“Do you know what it means?” Sirius asked.

Here, Remus paused, then shook his head. Sirius imagined that he and James must have looked intimidating as they both glared down at Remus. Remus’s jaw was tensely knotted. Contrary to what James seemed to think, the problem with the letter wasn’t what it said, it was how Remus had reacted to what it said. Remus knew exactly what it meant. He just wasn’t telling them.

“You know. I can see you know. Why not just tell us?” Sirius demanded.

His hands balled into fists, Remus stood and grabbed the letter, standing firm. “Leave it,” he said. Sirius and James shared a glance, a quick one to decide whether or not to drop the matter. He saw James nod almost imperceptibly.

“Fine,” Sirius said. He jerked his head to the door and he and James left the guest room for the one they shared together. As Sirius closed the door to the guest room he paused to glance at the boy whose hands, just the night before, had rested with his. His eyes were too hurt for Sirius to hold his gaze and he shut the door behind them. “What do you think it’s about?” James asked once they were securely back in his room.

After a breath to steady himself, Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think it’s from Voldemort? It did say it was from You-Know-Who.”

James shook his head, “No, it was more like you know who, as in you know who this is. If it was Voldemort more than just the ‘You’ would have been capitalized.”

“Whoever it was could still be involved with Voldemort. What if his dad was a Death Eater?” Sirius suggested carefully.

James looked at Sirius in confusion. “Why would his dad have been a Death Eater? Mr. Lupin is dead now anyway. Besides, what could Remus have done that Voldemort would be interested in?”

Sirius frowned, “I don’t know, but whatever this letter’s about, it can’t be good.”

“We could just be overreacting,” said James.

Sirius sat down on James’s bed with a sigh, riding the bounce from the box springs. “Yeah… but did you see his face?” James’s expression of surprise told Sirius that he hadn’t. “See, this is why you keep making a fool of yourself in front of Lily. You don’t pay attention.”

James glared. “I do so!” Sirius rolled his eyes. If James would only listen to Lily, then he would have been listening to very different girl problems by now.

“Right, whatever. My point is, Remus looked really scared about us reading that note, but then it didn’t really say anything.”

“Or,” James added, “he was scared because of the note. ‘I know what you did,’ and ‘it won’t be long?’ Sounds like a threat.”

“More than sounds like,” said Sirius, “it _is_. The only problem is we don’t know how serious this threat is. Or even what they’re talking about,`” He reached up and rubbed his chin, his newly growing stubble pricking at his fingers.

James bit his lip, “It’s seems pretty serious,” he said. “The aurors think someone burnt down their house. What if whoever did that has something to do with the letter?”

“You think?” asked Sirius.

“Maybe. But what can we do about it? That’s what I don’t know,” said James irritably.

“Well, Remus obviously knows what it's about. There’s not much we can do until he talks to us.”

James snorted. "Fat chance of that ever happening.”

Sirius shrugged. “Maybe, but I still think we should give it a try."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," said James, though he didn't sound convinced. He paused. "Do you figure Mrs. Lupin knows anything?"

Sirius shook his head, "You saw the way he left the table. He didn't want his mom to know.”

James frowned thoughtfully in front of him. “It's a bugger my parents are such bleeding hearts. I’m not sure of how I feel about this bloke.”

"You should give him a chance," said Sirius softly, and James shot him a look, unconvinced.

"I already am. He's testing it. Look, let's just go back downstairs and if it comes up again, we take out our bludgers and let the balls do the rest, hey? This is getting a bit much."

Sirius snorted, unsure that Remus would be the one coming out damaged from that encounter. “Lucky there’s no shortage of bludgers in your backyard."

“My thoughts exactly," said James, turning to walk down the stairs. He paused on one of the steps, his expression suddenly bright. "Look, here I am, imagining it." He sighed. "It's a beautiful sight."

"Who's winning?" Sirius asked, following his friend down the steps.

"Definitely the bludger," said James.


	4. An Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James reminisces upon a lost locket, and Mrs. Lupin is interrogated again. When Remus receives another letter, James and Sirius decide to take action.

**CHAPTER 4**

 

“No, I don’t think you get it,” said James, casually tossing a chaser’s ball in his hands. “It’s the legs.” Morning had passed into full-fledged day, and James and Sirius hadn't seen Remus since breakfast. They had passed the time in his absence in James's bedroom while the adults in the house puttered and bustled in the way of the semi-retired, leaving the two boys to spend their afternoon in the usual way.

“The redhead’s legs or Jane Fonda’s?” asked Sirius.

James glared, frustrated by his blatant taunts. “Don’t try and change the subject. Jane Fonda’s. And she kicks butt, that’s my kind of woman.”

“And you’re still trying to convince me you don’t have a thing for redheads?”

James threw the ball at Sirius forcefully. Sirius caught it, his only reaction a cheeky grin. “It’s not the hair, Si. Lily’s special. She–”

“So it’s the tits? They are quite perky. Do you think she can do that thing with the lipstick?” Sirius asked, miming the action with his arms pressed together, the ball outstretched, and his face buried in his chest. James looked thoughtful at that.

“Do you think I should ask?” he paused, his eyes lighting with wonderment. “Do you think she would do it for me? Aw, man.”

Sirius snorted. “Not a chance in hell. She wouldn’t even lend you a quill if you asked her to; she’s not going to put her lipstick on with her tits at your request.” Sirius tossed the ball back.

James caught it, looking stiff. “She might. She…” He hesitated a moment too long and Sirius stiffened enough that James noticed.

“What? She what?” he asked. James wasn’t sure if Sirius was really interested in what he had to say or if he was bored. Maybe he was pretending to be uninterested, or, more likely, he was pretending to care.

He hadn’t told Sirius yet. He wasn’t sure why. Sirius was his best friend, even more so than their other good friend, Peter, who was kind and more compassionate than Sirius, even if he sometimes was a little odd. Maybe it was because he just wanted to keep it to himself. For years he had been in love with Lily, constantly asking her out, but she had always rejected him. Until this year.

During exams, one of Lily's friends had started crying in the library. She had cried with loud, heaving sobs that James couldn't ignore. When he saw her there, he had sat next to her, waiting out her cries and listening to her scattered speech about her stress and her life and her worries. Then, when she stopped crying, James offered to help her study. James had forgotten the incident entirely until the last banquet of their sixth year. He had found Lily in the hallway outside the Great Hall, her fingers struggling with the clasp of a silver necklace. He had been able to tell by the unsteadiness of her fingers and by the flush of her pale cheeks that she was furious.

When he approached her, she had snapped, “What do you want?” But when she turned around, she said, “Oh, it’s you,” as though there was someone she wished to see less than him in that moment. That alone had been new.

“Let me help,” he had said, and she had let him take off her necklace. Once the clasp was undone she balled it into her fist and threw it at the wall. It was so thin and fine that only the heart-shaped pendant made any noise as it bounced off the stone.

“Thank you,” she said grudgingly, her thanks an afterthought.

“What happened?” he had asked, afraid she would hit him like she sometimes did. Good sense told him he ought to leave, but he hadn’t ever listened to good sense.

“I appreciate your concern, Potter,” she said, not sounding like she appreciated his concern at all, “but I’m not going to tell you anything just so you can–”

“No! It’s just– you look upset,” James said. As if on queue Lily had sniffled. Glaring at James, she blinked her eyes. They were dry now, but her cheeks were tracked with tears.

“Well, I’m fine.” Lily didn’t look fine, but he hadn’t been about to say so.

For a moment, it seemed as if she was done with him. He knew how angry he made her, and he didn’t want to be the one to make her feel any worse. “Do you want me to-”

“You know what?” she said suddenly and James had stopped, his hand dangling in the air where it had been raised to gesture towards the Gryffindor common room. Lily’s eyes were fixed decidedly in front of her, her eyes glinting. “I will go out with you, Potter,” she said, like it some sort of declaration. There was nothing romantic about it, but she had agreed, and James couldn’t say no to her, not to Lily Evans.

Nevertheless, he’d had to ask, “Don’t you hate me?”

“You’re not that bad, Potter. You just don’t know how cruel you are,” she had said brusquely. When he asked her what she meant, his palms sweaty, she listed off the things he had done to other students, and a few things he had done to teachers.

James hadn’t denied it. Maybe if he had he would have lost her then forever. Instead, he had said, “We’ve mostly stopped with the mean stuff. Or, I have, anyway.” For a moment she seemed like she was about to argue, but James interrupted her, “I wasn’t there when Peter and Sirius exploded Sni-Snape’s potion. I want to be better than that.” The words had slipped involuntarily from his tongue. At that moment, he wasn’t sure of anything he wanted to be except hers.

Later, when he thought about what he’d said over the summer he realized that even though he hadn’t known it then, what he’d said was true. He did want to be better. All of his life he had dreamed of being some kind of hero, saving the wizarding world from all sorts of made-up dangers, but what kind of hero hung people from trees by their underwear? He wanted to be like Dumbledore one day; respected, and for more than just being funny and charming and smart. And he hadn’t lied either. The things he used to do with Sirius and Peter were beginning to seem less fun and more stupid. Maybe they were growing apart. Maybe he was changing. Maybe he just wanted to be closer to her. James didn’t know why he was feeling the way he was, but he was, and it scared him. He had stopped pranking as much, and had avoided participating at all in the malicious pranks. He had even stopped pranking Snape (although James sometimes wondered if this was less to do with his own quest for goodness and more to do with Snape’s friendship with Lily), not that he thought Snape would ever forgive him for the pranks of the past. He hadn’t lied, and when Lily stopped for a moment and thought, she, too, realized he was telling the truth.

She seemed lost in thought for a while, and she looked more angry and sad than the happy he wished she was. The moment gave James the chance to admire the curve of her mouth and the pretty green of her eyes. When she finally did speak she said, “If we do this, no mischief, alright?”

“No, of course not, none!”

“And don’t go shoving your tongue down my throat while I’m trying to eat spaghetti.”

“We won’t even eat spaghetti. Not us. We’ll eat American food. Or Indian-whatever you want-”

“I don’t care what we eat. Just make it public,” she said, and straightened herself out. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and straightened her skirt. “See you next year,” she had said, walking off without looking back. It wasn’t romantic but she had said yes, and even James had started to think she never would. He wished a little that it could have been a beautiful moment, that violins could have played behind them and that flowers petals could have drifted from the sky but she had said yes, so now there would be time for beauty. After all, it was so much easier to say yes to love after saying yes to a date, and James desperately wanted Lily to fall in love with him. It would have to be her that fell, after all, because James didn’t think he could fall any further.

Too late, he had glanced to the floor and noticed her necklace on the stone. She was too far gone to run after her, and having it gave him the chance to give it back. When James didn’t see her on the Hogwarts Express at the end of the year he kept it. He had told himself he would keep it safe until she wanted it back.

The necklace was in his nightstand now, waiting for when he would bring it back to her. On occasion he took it out and ran the chain through his fingers, feeling the fine metal and remembering that she had worn it once.

That was what he hadn’t told Sirius. Something in his gut told him that Sirius would be more annoyed than happy for him, even though they were best mates. Sirius had never really liked Lily. Maybe it was her hair - Sirius thought redheads looked Scottish, which James could never tell if he meant as an insult or not. However, James suspected but would never tell anyone that he thought Sirius was a little jealous of Lily. James knew that liking Lily didn’t mean that he liked Sirius any less, but he wasn’t always sure Sirius did.

But, no matter James’s feelings, he couldn’t avoid telling Sirius forever, even if he didn’t want to. As wrong as it felt to share it with him, it felt more wrong to hide it. So James glanced off into the corner of the room, avoiding Sirius’s attentive gaze, and said, “She asked me out.”

“What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sirius asked.

“I dunno,” James said, feeling himself blush, “I guess I kind of wanted to keep it private, you know? And anyway she seemed a bit mad.”

Sirius paused, a small playful smile on his lips as he couldn't help but detract from the seriousness of the moment with a snide comment. "Doesn't she always seem a bit mad?" James shot him a look, and Sirius sighed. "What did you do this time?” Sirius asked and again James shrugged, still preferring to keep the details to himself. He had liked her for so long that even their unhappy moments felt too special to be casually shared.

“I don’t think she was mad at me,” he said, “I mean, she asked me out, didn’t she?” Sirius looked at him skeptically, unsatisfied by his answer. James was sure he would get out the whole story eventually, but before Sirius could ask any more questions the doorbell rang. James got up first, and Sirius followed. They made it halfway down the stairs before they saw a man James didn’t know handing his coat over to Mrs. Potter. Sirius didn’t ask James who he was. Instead he seemed to recognize him without James’s help. He asked, “What’s he doing here?”

Mrs. Potter caught sight of them from the corner of her eye and turned to face them. “Boys, why don’t you go back into your room?” Despite her even tone, neither boy had any doubt that they were being commanded.

“Sure…” James replied, noticing the odd look in his mother’s eyes. Clearly this man’s arrival had to do with Remus’s house, or his father. “Come on Sirius,” he said, leading his friend back upstairs. He heard his mother welcome the man into the living room, and could tell by the voices that greeted him in response that Mrs. Lupin and his father were in there, too. Luckily for Sirius and James, they had long been skilled in the art of eavesdropping. James spelled the closed living room doorway so they would be able to hear from their bedroom. Once they were sure the spell had taken effect, they ran into James’s bedroom. Neither felt too guilty. Mrs. Potter was sure to expect their mischief, even if Mr. Potter didn’t.

The adults downstairs exchanged pleasantries for a while, and Mrs. Potter offered everyone tea and biscuits. The man declined the biscuits, but Mrs. Lupin could be heard munching on them nervously. The woman always seemed to be nervous, and this nervousness was only magnified by the presence of this man, whomever he was.

“So,” Sirius asked again, “What is he doing here?”

James shrugged, “I don’t even know who he is.”

Sirius glanced at him sidelong, his look contemplative. “His name is Augustus Rookwood. He works in the Department of Mysteries. I don’t understand what he would be doing here, though.” James raised an eyebrow. “He’s-”

“I must admit that I’m not here simply for pleasure,” Rookwood said. Sirius and James returned their focus to the conversation happening below them. They quietened simultaneously, both wanting to hear what Mrs. Potter was so eager to hide from them.

“What for, then, Augustus? I didn’t realize you worked with this department,” asked Mrs. Potter. James heard the clinking of a spoon stirring a cup of tea. Rookwood cleared his throat and they could hear something being wiped. Maybe it was someone’s mouth.

“It’s about the fire in the Lupin home. There have been some new developments.”

“And the Auror Office sent you to discuss them with us?” asked Mr. Potter.

After a moment’s pause Mr. Nott answered, “Yes. Now, Mrs. Lupin — may I call you by your first name?”

“Yes, you may,” she said quietly.

“Mary, then,” he said kindly. “We have been searching your home extensively for the past several days, and we have come to realize a few things. To begin with, we noticed that, as Mr. Nott told you, the fire was started magically. Judging by the strength of the fire, we expect that it must have been started by a rather powerful wizard, or at the least a rather powerful spell. Anyhow-”

“I’m sorry Augustus, do you mind? There’s something I need to do… I’ll be right back,” Mrs. Potter interrupted.

“Of course,” Rookwood said. The sliding door that led into the living room closed gently, and he continued. “As I was saying, Mary, it seems to have been a very powerful wizard who set fire to your house. Additionally, it appears that the fire was set, not from outside or in your living room as would be expected, but from the study.”

James and Sirius looked at each other. Mr. Lupin’s body had been in the study. If they made the connection, then surely the aurors had, too.

“Now, as you know, the study is where the body of your late husband was found. I hate to ask you this, Mary, but did your husband have any enemies? Is there anyone we should know about?”

There was a long pause. James glanced at Sirius, his eyebrows raised. Perhaps Mr. Lupin’s enemies were connected with whoever was writing letters to Remus. Maybe Mr. Lupin’s enemies were Death Eaters. He tried to communicate his thoughts to Sirius with exaggerated eyebrow wiggling, but Sirius just licked his lips and stared intently at the floor.

Back downstairs the door clicked open and Mrs. Potter made her way back inside the room. “Sorry about that,” she said just as a quiet knock sounded on James’s door. Sharing a look with Sirius he lifted himself up and turned the knob. “Althea was listening in on the stairs,” Mrs. Potter said just as James opened the door to find the petite eleven year old clutching a ratty stuffed Eeyore toy that he recognized from his childhood. Most of his old things were up in the attic collecting dust, but he supposed that his mother had taken this one down for Althea.

“May I come in?” she asked, just as Mrs. Potter said, “I told her to go upstairs and join the boys in James’s bedroom.” Althea’s eyes narrowed, hearing the conversation from downstairs even more clearly than she had heard it on the stairs. She just raised her face to James’s expectantly, her expression innocent. However, it was because James knew she couldn’t be innocent that he let her in. She joined Sirius and James on the floor, moving herself into the corner and pulling her knees into her chest.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Lupin.

“We were just discussing the fire and how it seems someone started it from the study. I just asked Mary if Mr. Lupin had any enemies.”

“Ah,” Mrs. Potter said. A chair deflated somewhat and James assumed his mother had taken a seat.

Rookwood’s question hung suspended in the air. For far too long, no one said a word, waiting for Mrs. Lupin to reply to the question. However, her silence spoke for itself. Mr. Lupin must have had some enemies after all. The only question was who they were.

“I-I’m not sure,” Mrs. Lupin said finally.

“You’re not sure?” Rookwood asked. “Mary, you know I’m only here to help.”

Mrs. Lupin took in a deep breath. “My John…” her voice got soft and dry, as though it was working so hard at keeping back the tears that the moisture had been all sucked away. “He may… he could have… he could have _had_ some enemies. I don’t know. He didn’t tell me much. But… he was out a lot.”

“Mary, this is very important. Do you know where he was going, or who he was meeting with?” Rookwood asked.

“No. I can guess, though. John was… we have circumstances, you see. He was having trouble finding a job, he might have found something.” The tone of her voice turned desperate, “But he was a good man. Everything he was doing he was doing for us, for me.”

“It’s just what you’ve already spoken to the other aurors about, is that right?”

“Yes, nothing you don’t already know.”

Althea’s face looked too serious for someone so small. The fingers she used to hold onto her knees were white. She was gripping them hard. “Erm, Althea?” James asked, “Are you alright?” Althea just nodded and smiled weakly.

Of course she wasn’t alright. Her father had just died, and now the aurors thought he had been murdered. James felt stupid for asking, so he shut his mouth and returned his eyes to the wall. There was nothing for them to see, so they all looked in different places. Althea didn’t seem to be looking anywhere, and Sirius was probably looking at the floor because the adults were the closest to being downstairs. James only stared at the wall because it was in front of him, and it hurt his neck to stare down.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Mary,” Rookwood asked, “how did you afford this neighbourhood with your husband not working? Mr. Nott tells me that you’re a squib. Are you working in the muggle world? As a secretary perhaps?”

“Is that relevant?” asked Mr. Potter. “If it is I don’t see how.”

“Everything plays into the investigation, Thomas. Perhaps Mary would prefer to have this conversation in private.”

“No, no,” she said, “No, it’s all right. It’s nothing like that. I’m not the type to go off and work. I’m a mother. I look after my children, that’s job enough for me.”

“But, then, how…?” Rookwood let his question hang. For a moment it seemed like they were going to have another long, awkward pause, but Mrs. Lupin responded.

“Right now?” Mrs. Lupin squeaked quietly.

“I, erm. I’m afraid it simply can’t be avoided. If you would rather chat in private, without Thomas and Evelyn…” he said kindly.

Another moment passed before Mrs. Lupin said, “It’s alright,” though it sounded forced.

“We can leave, Mary, we really don’t need to know you and John’s finances. It’s entirely inappropriate for us to be here. Thomas, dear-”

“No, stay, please. It’s alright. It’s just… I dislike speaking of these things, that’s all.” She took in a long breath before continuing. “My parents were both wizards, but both of them were muggle-born. I was the only child that wasn’t a wizard. Maybe it skipped a generation, I don’t know. Anyway, we didn’t come from old money, but we did alright. John, though, he was an only child from an old family, much like your James, actually.” That jarred James a bit. He looked to Sirius and the other boy shrugged. It wasn’t much comfort. “When his parents died, he inherited the money. It wasn’t a lot, but it helped. Of course, we didn’t need it then. John was working with the Ministry in the Department of Finance. But then John was fired from the Ministry, and things were harder. We managed, though.”

“How long ago was that? That he was fired?”

“That was twelve years ago.”

“It’s been some time, then. When was the last time John had work?”

“About seven months ago,” Mrs. Lupin answered, her voice whispery and high-pitched.

“That’s quite some time. I can see how you might have both been under some strain, with two children.”

“Yes, it was quite difficult. We managed, though.”

“With this inheritance money?”

“Sometimes, yes. Sometimes John must have had other money coming in, but I don’t know where it came from. He never told me.”

“Did it have anything to do with the basement?” Rookwood asked.

“Th-the basement? What-”

“Your basement has some very heavy protection spells on it.”

“What are you looking for in the basement?” Mr. Potter asked.

“There’s nothing in there, nothing that you’d want,” said Mrs. Lupin.

Rookwood instead looked at Mrs. Lupin, “We kindly ask that you help us to get into the room, Mary. It would greatly help our investigation.”

“Yes, yes, I can do that,” she said, wringing her hands.

“Thank you, Mary. Your help is greatly appreciated. Anyhow, I had better be off. Please, Mary, if you can think of anything that might help us find who killed your husband, please tell us. I know you want to find him just as much as I do.”

The adults were polite in their greetings, but James knew he wasn’t the only curious one. Once Rookwood left Sirius began to fidget with his pockets. James took off the spell. His parents and Mrs. Lupin might say something else of interest, but he didn’t want to be caught listening in.

“I don’t know, but…” Sirius began.

“What?” James asked. He’d had enough of long winded replies for the day.

“Rookwood is friends with my parents,” Sirius finished.

“So?” James asked.

“So, he can’t be a good guy,” he replied.

James scoffed, “Si, that’s ridiculous. You heard him, he sounded nice. And my parents are friends with him, too.”

“You’d never met him before today. They can’t be that close. And you don’t know the types of people my parents are friends with,” Sirius said.

“Purebloods?” James guessed. Sirius nodded.

“Yeah, purebloods, but also death eaters.”

Death eaters. Like Regulus.

“Are we in danger?” Althea asked in her high, whispery voice.

James shook his head, “Nah. Sirius just panics too much. You shouldn’t worry about it.” Except Sirius was never the one to panic. That was usually Peter, and if not Peter, it was James.

“Hey, Althea,” Sirius asked suddenly, “Where’s your brother?”

She shrugged. “Um… I don’t know. Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“No reason,” Sirius replied. “Hey Althea,” he said suddenly, his eyes brightening with alertness, “Do you know anything?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, thinking, probably, and then shook her head. For a moment it looked as though Sirius were going to leave her alone, then he added, “What happened? I mean, why was your dad fired? And why didn’t he just get another job?”

Again, Althea shrugged. Sirius let out a short, frustrated sigh. Getting the girl to talk was likely more difficult than getting Sirius’s mother to speak calmly, and that was a fruitless, perhaps impossible, task from what James had heard.

Someone rapped at James’s door. When he opened it he saw Remus, looking a bit ruffled. There were grass stains on his pants. “Shag stains?” he asked, pointing at the spots of green. Remus blushed.

“No. I was reading. Is Althea in here?” he asked. Althea crawled out of the corner by way of response and gave Remus a little wave. “Al, come on.” He gestured for her to follow him. Althea lifted herself up from her spot on the floor, moving with her characteristic hesitance.

“Where are we going?” she asked her older brother, her wide eyes peering up at him with concern.

“Downstairs,” he replied ambiguously. “Come on.” He led his little sister out of the room without another word to James or Sirius, closing the door behind him.

“Prat,” James muttered under his breath. Sirius said nothing. “So, what are you thinking about? You’ve got a really intense look on your face.”

Another moment was spent in silence as Sirius thought. “I don’t like this,” he finally said. “This is the fourth day in a row that Remus has gotten a letter, and you’d have to be an idiot not to think that someone killed Mr. Lupin.”

“So?” James asked.

“So, whoever killed Mr. Lupin is probably the one sending those letters.” They had made the connection before. James shrugged. Seeing this, Sirius continued, his manner all the more intense, “You heard Mrs. Lupin, she said he was getting some kind of a job from these people. They sounded dodgy, don’t you think? And then she was defending him like he’d done something wrong!”

“What are you getting at, Sirius?” James asked.

Sirius’s eyes glinted. “Mr. Lupin was a death eater, and I think Rookwood is, too.”

James snorted. “Sirius, that’s ridiculous. You said that before, and it’s still barmy. I told you he’s friends with my dad-”

“No, it’s not ridiculous, James. Remus told me he was.”

“When?” James asked incredulously. He hadn’t seen them talking alone once since Sirius had arrived.

Sirius shrugged, “Ask him yourself. I think maybe Mr. Lupin might have messed up this job, whatever it was, and then they came to kill him, and it looks to me like they did a pretty good job.”

“Then what has Rookwood got to do with anything? And why didn’t they put up a dark mark?” James protested.

“I think they must not have wanted anyone to know. Or maybe they forgot. Or maybe it’s because they didn’t do the killing curse on him. And I don’t know about Rookwood, but he has got something to do with it, I know it.” The look in Sirius’s eyes was almost wild, and it scared James just a little. But James was used to this kind of intensity from Sirius. He rolled his eyes at his friend.

“Okay, fine,” he said, “So lets say Rookwood is evil and the death eaters are out to get the Lupin family. What’s your point?”

As soon as he’d said the words James wished he could take them back, because Sirius leaned forward in his chair and whispered, “My point is, they’re coming here next.”

 

**~*~**

 

Mr. Potter’s oak door was shut, but not locked, when James stood outside his study later that day. He took a deep breath before knocking, his knuckles catching slightly on the rough finish. “Dad?” he called.

“Come in,” his father responded. Mr. Potter’s voice was deep, deeper than James’s. Maybe it was a matter of age weathering the vocal cords, or maybe James just wasn’t meant to carry that brusque, masculine tone in his voice. He turned the knob and stepped in. As usual, Mr. Potter was buried in some kind of work. He had been retired for a while now, but that hadn’t stopped the Ministry from giving him things to do and asking him for advice. Mrs. Potter complained, but James secretly thought that Mr. Potter didn’t want to give up his work just yet, retired or not.

Mr. Potter looked up and leaned back in his chair. “Was there something you wanted to ask me, James?”

James reached his hand to his hair awkwardly. He had talked to Sirius, and against his better judgment, his friend was beginning to make a lot of sense. And what he said scared him. “Erm, yeah, actually.” Mr. Potter rubbed his eyes and sighed.

“Alright then, ask away.”

“It’s about Remus,” James began, “he’s been getting these letters. We don’t know who they’re from. And they’re threatening him.”

Mr. Potter looked up sharply. “How? What do they say?”

“Things like, ‘I know what you did’ and ‘it won’t be long.’ We haven’t had a chance to look at the ones he’s been getting lately, but Sirius said he saw the last one and it said something like ‘half-breed filth.’” James fidgeted, “We think it might be from Death Eaters.”

James’s father’s response was much like James’s own had been. “James, that’s ridiculous. Remus is a child. I can see no reason why Death Eaters would be threatening him.”

“But his mother’s muggle-born, and a squib!”

“Yes,” Mr. Potter admitted, “but he’s not the only one with muggle-born parents, not even squib muggle-born parents. I see no reason why they would single him out.”

“But _he’s_ a squib, too!” James protested.

Mr. Potter folded his arms and looked down at James through his glasses in a way that made James feel very much like a child. “He’s safe here, James, I promise.”

James wasn’t so sure. Mr. Lupin had been murdered right across the street. He didn’t feel that safe, even in his own home. “But what about us?” he asked meekly. Mr. Potter’s expression turned stern, and James hurried on before he could say anything. “And Sirius says Remus told him Mr. Lupin was a Death Eater. He had the mark and everything.”

“Remus told him? If that is true, why haven’t they told the aurors?”

“Of course they didn’t tell aurors that Remus’s father is a Death Eater. They’re probably scared of what would happen if they did.”

“So you’re saying that you think this has something to do with You-Know-Who? Here? On our street?” Mr. Potter pursed his lips, and he seemed to actually be thinking about what James had said. “Do you have any proof?”

This time James had to shake his head. Proof was something he didn’t have.

Mr. Potter shuffled the papers on his desk, straightening the corners of a stack. “I’ll let the aurors know what you’ve heard.” He looked up at his son, his eyes peeking over his thick glasses.

“Thanks, Dad,” said James.

“I hope Sirius is wrong,” he said.

“Me too.” James went to the door and turned the latch, then thought better of it. “Dad? Sirius thinks Rookwood is a Death Eater, too. He says he’s friends with his parents.”

“Mr. Rookwood is friends with a lot of people, James. That doesn’t mean they’re Death Eaters. It seems that according to Sirius everyone’s a Death Eater,” Mr. Potter replied, frowning.

“But-”

“James, Augustus Rookwood is not a Death Eater. He’s in the Department of Mysteries. He works in the Ministry, and plays an active role in the wizarding community. I’ll not hear you say anything else along those lines.”

“But you’ll tell them, right? About Remus’s dad?”

“Enough, James. Just trust me: I’ll take care of it. We’re all safe. Go help your mother.”

James left, and the door shut.

 


	5. The Next Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius go berry picking.

The sun was new over the horizon when Sirius and Remus were outside picking berries for Mrs. Potter. They had both woken up early somehow - despite chatting again after everyone had fallen asleep - and had jumped at the chance to get out of the house together. Sirius wondered if Mrs. Potter knew about them. Mrs. Lupin had pretended not to know Sirius at Remus’s request, but even so Mrs. Potter sometimes gave Sirius looks that saw more of him than he felt comfortable sharing. Anyway, Sirius had an ulterior reason to be out with Remus. He and James had wanted to speak with Remus again, and Sirius knew there was little chance Remus would talk to James.

There was a blackberry bush in the field only a few blocks from the Potter’s house, large and seemingly endless. It was early in the season, or else it would have been almost empty when they came to pick it. Sirius glanced at Remus’s empty basket, “Oi, you’ve been picking faster than me. Where are they all going?”

Remus cleared his throat and glanced away, but Sirius could spot a blush on his cheeks. Moreover, he could spot a purple stain in the corner of his mouth. Sirius set his basket down and strode toward the other boy, carefully finding a path through the thorns. He wasn’t far from Remus, not at all. Inches, maybe. When he saw Remus’s muscles tense with anticipation Sirius knew he wasn’t dreaming.

Instead of a stroke, or a kiss, Sirius lifted his thumb to the corner of Remus’s mouth and wiped away the juice from the blackberry. Remus watched his thumb move to his mouth, and Sirius, in turn, watched Remus.

The best part was that Remus wasn’t exactly Sirius’s usual type. Usually he went for guys who looked a little bit more like he did. Guys with plump lips and chiseled faces and slender bodies. Guys that were playful and coy. Remus was good looking in a way, but his attractiveness was more of a sort of roughness. Remus was tall with a heavier sort of jawline that somehow managed to avoid brutishness. His eyes were sharp and lined with long lashes that would have been prettier on someone more delicate. No, Remus Lupin was not Sirius’s usual type, but he looked older than he was and he kissed something incredible.

Plus it was fun to watch him squirm.

Sirius put down his hand and shrugged away back into the berries. It took a moment before Remus could talk again. “You’re a bastard.”

Sirius grinned. “I know.”

Remus sighed, looking totally miserable. It was hard not to feel sympathy for him when he looked like that. “Hey Remus,” he started suddenly, remembering the other reason he was awake so early.

“Hm?” Remus said, his focus totally intent on the blackberries he picked. He ate nearly one of every two, Sirius noticed.

“Do you know who’s threatening you?” he asked. Remus paused, his hand wavering in midair over a berry. If he were to lift it an inch it would be pricked by a thorn. Slowly, Remus drew his hand from the bush. The berry still sat on its stem, untouched.

“Why?” Remus asked.

Sirius rolled his eyes, “I thought it would be obvious. I’m worried.” He turned to face Remus, who still stared at the berries, although Sirius doubted he saw anything at all. “I like you, Rem. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The smile that passed briefly over Remus’s face was a grim one. What was left was a sad look, one Sirius didn’t want to see, especially not as the dawn’s dark gold sunlight flickered so gingerly over Remus’s face. “It’s okay, Si. You don’t have to pretend.”

“What?” Sirius asked, genuinely confused.

Remus glanced up. The wind rustled in just that moment to make him into a striking figure, all tawny and gold. It almost took Sirius’ breath away. “You’re not worried about me, Si, because you don’t really care.” He tried to smile, but the expression was flat. “I’m fun to kiss, that’s all. We don’t have to pretend like there’s anything more to this,” he waved vaguely at the space around him. A thorn scratched at his skin, but it didn’t bleed. Though it had only grazed the surface, it was enough to distract Remus for a moment. “Shit,” he muttered.

Sirius frowned. He didn’t like Remus’s comment, although he couldn’t quite guess why. Remus was right, after all. He had barely thought about the other boy over the school year; they had only hooked up again because they were both at the Potters’ and, to be frank, horny. But still, that didn’t mean he didn’t _care_. Sirius Black didn’t care about many people, but today, for some reason, he cared for Remus Lupin. He didn’t feel there was anything he could say to Remus’s comments, so he shrugged, hoping he looked sexy doing it, as people often told him he did.

“There aren’t many downsides to being with me, but I guess my crush on James is one of them,” he replied, hoping to deflect Remus’s comment with playfulness, but his comment didn’t come out quite as playfully as he’d hoped. It was too true.

Remus, still nursing his scratch, backed out of the brambles and sat in the grass. “I would disagree with you, but I don’t.” He glanced quickly at Sirius, “Also I don’t know if I’d call it a crush.”

The berries forgotten, Sirius joined Remus in the grass. “What, then?” he asked, not sure of whether he really wanted to know his response.

The shrug Remus gave looked as though it was supposed to be nonchalant, but something in the set of Remus’s shoulders, the way he glanced away from Sirius, told him it wasn’t. “You know.”

“No,” said Sirius a little more brusquely than he’d intended, “I don’t.”

Remus looked at him shyly, “Love?” He seemed like he felt silly even saying the word, and maybe he was. He almost looked too big to say I love you.

To Remus, Sirius shrugged, avoiding his gaze. It was one thing for him to think that thing about James in his head, and another altogether to say it out loud. Remus leaned over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Sirius’s ear. “Of course you’re in love with him,” he murmured wistfully, “I’ve always had the worst luck.” Sirius blushed, not fond of where the conversation was heading.

“Well, at least I’m not the only one preoccupied, eh?” he burst out. Remus’s hand paused by his face, and Sirius just wanted him to continue stroking his hair, but he couldn’t take back his words now.

“What do you mean?” Remus asked, his hand falling into his lap.

“Just that you don’t have feelings for me, either. This is just as casual for you,” Sirius said. Mentally, he kicked himself. Eloquence was not his strong suit, and even if he was in love with James, that didn’t mean he didn’t like Remus. In fact, he liked him quite a lot.

If Sirius hadn’t known better, he would have thought Remus looked upset. “Right,” he said, “Maybe we should start heading back-”

“No!” Sirius said quickly. “I meant — what about that girl?” He didn’t want to go. And Remus still hadn’t answered his question.

“Alyssa?” Remus crinkled his face. “I’ve told you. She’s a friend. My best friend, probably, but that’s it. I don’t love her, not like you love James.”

“Is that who the letters are from?” Sirius asked, and watched Remus become stony.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not? They bother you. I hate seeing you so upset,” Sirius pleaded, lifting himself up to stroke Remus’s tense arm.

“Look, there are things in my life — bad things — that you don’t know about, and I don’t want to involve you or the Potters in any of it. I don’t want to see you get hurt, Sirius.” Remus’s voice was hard.

Sirius tried to speak with the softness of water. “But I can help—“

“I’m dealing with it. Just stop, Sirius. I don’t want to talk about it.”

James would have pushed him. Sirius would have pushed him, too, if it weren’t for the sound of Remus’s quickening heartbeat. The fear that filled Remus filled him too. The other boy felt so close. Sirius bit his lip, looking down at the dappling of light on the grass. “Lets just talk for a while,” he relented softly.

Remus snorted. “About what?”

“About nothing. And snog,” Sirius said.

“Right now?” Remus asked.

“Yeah,” said Sirius, running his hand up Remus’s chest. “Right now.” Remus shivered under him. He might have answered him now, if Sirius had liked, with their skin touching like this, but he didn’t want answers now. He put his lips on Remus and Remus kissed him, his lips a smile. Sirius would have been lying if he were to deny that he liked it. More than liked it. He drew his hand to Remus’s shoulder and the other boy fell softly into the grass. He held himself over Remus as he kissed him, and Remus touched his face like Sirius was something precious.

Sirius came up for air, his shaggy hair tickling Remus’s cheeks. “I’m so glad I fell off that cliff in St. Mawes,” Remus murmured. Sirius lifted his hand to Remus’s cheek.

“I saved you then, I’ll save you now,” he said with a bit of a chuckle. He felt rather than saw Remus smile back.

“You always were a dreamer,” he said.

The sun was higher in the sky when they finished with their embrace, more bright and clear than hazy and gold. Sirius was in Remus’s arms, his head on the other boy’s bare chest.

“I have another question,” Sirius remembered quietly, afraid that if he spoke too loudly the warmth from both above and below him would vanish.

“Hm? Which question was that?” Remus asked, his body tensing again.

Sirius thought for a moment, trying to remember his own question. He couldn’t stand feeling the tension in Remus’s chest. It had been so many minutes - or was it hours? - ago. “I have a lot of questions,” he said, nestling himself into the crook of Remus’s shoulder.

“Like what?”

Sirius thought for a moment, “Like, what’s your favourite colour?” Remus shrugged his shoulders as much as he could while lying down, relaxing. Sirius poked him, “Well?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Remus glanced at him. “Oh,” was all he said, “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“I was, though. What’s your favourite colour?” he asked again. Remus grinned. “What?”

“What would you call the colour of your eyes?” Remus replied. Sirius managed to punch him lightly in the gut without moving from his comfortable position on Remus’s shoulder.

“Stupid,” Sirius said. A beat later he added, “They’re silver.”

“Then silver is my favourite colour. Do I get to ask you a question now?” Remus asked. Sirius was touched that the boy would flatter him with so pretty a lie. He hoped it was a lie.

“No,” Sirius replied. “Hm… do you like dogs?”

“Sure,” said the other boy.

“What’s your favourite food?”

“Er, I don’t know. Meat. I don’t really like vegetables.” Sirius’s eyes closed, his lashes brushing against Remus’s chest as they shut. He liked the sound of Remus’s voice, too. It felt almost better to lie in his arms and listen to him with his eyes shut. Without the colours of the sky to distract him, he could focus on Remus. He could pretend they were in some sort of love story where they really did love each other and not other people. The scent of James’s shirt on Remus’s skin didn’t ease the growing discomfort he always felt while lying in the arms of other men. But if he pretended that the smell was not of James, or that the chest he leaned on wasn’t Remus’s, then everything else fell away.

“What about tea?”

“Tea isn’t a food,” Remus corrected.

“Not my point. You’re always pouring it for Mrs. Potter,” Sirius replied, still too relaxed to open his eyes. Remus’s thumb on the arm that held Sirius against him began to move in circles on Sirius’s arm. The movement caused him shivers. It felt so good to be held.

Finally, Remus said, “The Potters took us in. I thought we were going to be sleeping on the street, but they’re as incredible as you said they were.”

“Even James?” Sirius asked.

“Well, James is a bit of a prat,” Remus said lightly.

“Yeah, he is,” Sirius agreed, opening his eyes slightly, “but he’s also the best guy I’ve ever met. Even if he is a bit of a prat, he’s just as incredible as his parents. More.”

“Hm,” was all Remus said in reply. The circles on Sirius’s arm became strokes.

“It’s kind of like a Utopia for me here. I don’t think I know of any other family like the Potters, and they treat me like I’m one of them,” Sirius continued.

“Well, that’s because as far as they’re concerned, you are,” Remus pointed out.

“What was your family like before?” Sirius asked suddenly. The stroking on his arm stopped. Sirius guessed that Remus didn’t want to talk about his family. He rarely did.

“Before what?” Remus asked cautiously. For reasons Sirius didn’t understand, he felt as though he were treading on thin ice again. The tone of Remus’s voice warned him to stay away from this conversation, but he couldn’t think of a way to back out of it.

“I don’t know. Your mom mentioned that something happened and after your dad couldn’t find a job.”

“Did she say that?” he asked.

“Not in so many words. I guess you could say I filled in the blanks,” Sirius replied. Knowing he was getting himself into trouble, he added, “Was it when they found out you were a squib?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said, “I can’t remember, and my parents never talk about it. I doubt it had anything to do with me, though. I was really young when he stopped being able to find work.”

Sirius knew he shouldn’t ask any more questions, but he hadn’t lied when he told Remus he was curious. They had talked so much last summer, but there were still things he didn’t know, or things he hadn’t thought to ask. So, he next asked, “Where are you going to go to school this year?”

“I’m not in school,” Remus replied. Sirius thought he detected some bitterness in his voice.

“This year?” he asked.

“No, I’m just not in school. I’m a squib, so I can’t go to Hogwarts, and my parents didn’t want me going to a muggle school, so every year they buy a stack of books for me to study and leave me to home school myself. Anyway, I’m almost too old for muggle school.”

“Why’d they do that?” Sirius asked.

“Can we talk about something else?” Remus said suddenly. “What’s your favourite food?” he asked, grabbing at topics desperately. “Come on.”

Hesitantly, Sirius said, “Chocolate.”

“Brilliant,” Remus said. He shifted to the side, and gently pushed Sirius off his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Sirius asked, no longer dozy. Remus pulled his abandoned clothes onto his bare limbs and stood, brushing the dirt from James’s pants.

“I’m going back to the Potters’ house,” he pointed at the sky, “It’s getting late, and the mail should be coming soon.”

“It’s not that late,” Sirius grumbled, reaching for Remus’s hand to pull himself up. Remus didn’t answer, and instead grabbed the baskets and walked back to Potter’s. Remus’s longer legs and head start meant that Sirius had to run to catch up with him. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” Sirius said once he caught up with Remus.

“And what’s that?” Remus replied, the gruffness in his voice thinly veiled by feigned curiosity. Sirius grabbed Remus’s arm, hoping to slow him down.

“It’s not hard to figure out, Rem,” he paused, letting his words sink in. “And anyways,” he added, “I have secrets, too. If you don’t want to talk about something, that’s okay.” He felt Remus’s muscles relax in the arm he held.

They were both silent for several minutes. Their pace had slowed, and they were walking to the edge of the grassy field with Sirius’s head resting on Remus’s shoulder. When they reached the street Remus stepped away from him gently. “Someone might see,” he reminded Sirius. By someone Sirius knew he meant James, so he let himself be released and shoved his hands into his pockets. The baskets of berries in Remus’s hands again began swinging at his sides, no longer having to contend with Sirius’s thighs. There weren’t any cars on the street, because no one in this wizarding neighborhood used them to get to work. They hadn’t left long after dawn, but now early waking wizard children were laughing and playing in the streets, and adults were puttering in their gardens or apparating to work.

“We were happy,” Remus said quietly. Sirius glanced up from the cement and at Remus. Remus cast his eyes down, and his lashes were the only thing Sirius could see of his eyes, “The only thing I can remember from before is that we were happy.” Sirius tried to catch his eyes, but Remus wouldn’t look at him, so he settled for second best. He laid his hand on Remus’s shoulder and rubbed it. He wanted to hug him - he was so clearly upset - but too many people were around them, watching.

 

**~*~**

 

By the time they got to the Potters’ everyone was awake and eating breakfast while Mrs. Potter scurried around to ensure that everyone had everything they wanted. She greeted them pleasantly before taking the baskets of berries and setting them on the counter. “The mail is here,” she said, gesturing to the window ledge where a large black and grey owl with rings around its eyes waited. Sirius couldn’t help but think that it looked like it was glaring at them. “Another one for you today, Remus. You’d better get to it quick, he’s been getting rather impatient.”

Without another word Remus went to the owl, his hand hesitating inches from the owl before he looked at it, then Sirius, who he must have known was watching him. His expression became dark. Instead of taking the letter he reached for the owl. The owl hadn’t been expecting to be grabbed, but it had no chance to fly off before Remus wrapped his fingers around its feathered legs. He was fast, Sirius noted. The owl flapped its wings and squawked, looking comical now instead of grim.

“Remus,” said Mrs. Potter, scandalized, “The owl-”

“It’s fine,” Remus answered quickly as the bird panicked, “I’ll be back in a bit. Save me some breakfast.” Holding the owl firmly, Remus strode out of the kitchen. Mr. Potter folded his newspaper, sharing a meaningful glance with his son over his eyeglasses. James stuttered something about leaving and Sirius blurting out something about needing the bathroom. James said something about quidditch practice.

They followed Remus into the room he was sharing with his mother. He still held the owl under his arm and was prying the letter from the bird’s struggling talons using the edge of the sheet for leverage. When he heard the door open he dropped the letter and the owl. With a squawk the owl hobbled away and flew out the open window with a pointed glare directed at Remus as it did so. The bird must have bitten him somehow as it had gotten away, because Remus was nursing bright red fingers.

“Whatever you’re going to say, it’s fine,” Remus said before either James or Sirius could get in a word.

“No, it’s not,” said James. “Now, will you let us read the letter or not?” Remus’s mouth was set in a tight line, the one that it drew whenever he was trying to keep a secret. Sirius was getting to know that shape better this summer than he had in the last, which wasn’t something he was sure he liked.

Remus didn’t move, and he didn’t reply. It was like he was frozen where he was, like maybe he was too mad to say anything in case he got too angry. Maybe James sensed Remus’s tension, but he didn’t seem to care. Neither would Sirius, usually, but not ten minutes ago he had told Remus he could keep his secrets.

“Weird,” James commented, “It’s on silver paper.”

“Eh?” Sirius said.

“It’s paper, but it’s made with silver, too. Look at how it shines in the light. It must have cost them to send this to you… Did you see that when you took it Remus?” James asked.

“Yeah, I did,” he said.

“Weird,” James repeated. He opened the envelope slowly, but broke the wax seal without ceremony.

“It says, ‘Remus Lupin, you have ignored me for long enough. Know that I will do to your new home what was done to the last. I’m waiting,’” he glanced up. “It’s signed You know who again.”

Sirius wasn’t a fool, and even if were he would have understood the letter. Its meaning was clear. They wanted to burn down the Potter house.

 


	6. A Little Bit of Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys decide to make a move to protect their home.

**CHAPTER 6**

 

“Fuck,” said Sirius with a nervous glance at the other two boys in the room. James looked between them, as if considering something.

“He’s got to go,” He said quietly, holding the letter tightly in his hands.

“James!” Sirius said nervously, “We can’t just throw him out of your house. Someone is trying to kill him.”

Remus’s eyes were downcast toward the floor, his face placid and empty. It was an expression that gave Sirius the chills, especially since it had barely changed since they’d taken the letter.

“Well he can’t stay here. Didn’t you read that letter? Someone is going to burn down my house. I live here, my parents are here, you’re here. I can’t let that happen.” James turned to Remus, “Leave. The letters are sent to you, they’re addressed to you. It’s you they want, no one else. Your family can stay, but you have to leave.”

“James,” Sirius huffed, exasperated. “Where is he going to go? Your parents will never agree.”

“Who says they have to agree? Who says they have to know? I’ll tell them he ran away,” James said. His friend stood tall, his eyes set and cold. “He’ll find somewhere to go. It doesn’t really matter, as long as it’s away.”

“No,” Sirius said, “that would be sending him out to die.”

“It’s fine,” Remus said quietly, suddenly, from where he stood. “I’ll go. It’s better.”

“Stop it, both of you. You’re being ridiculous. No one’s going anywhere. There’s got to be another solution to this. Just think. There’s got to be someone who can help. James, do you think you could ask your dad about the letters?”

James hesitated, “Maybe.”

“Okay, that’s a start. What about you, Remus? Could your mom help at all?” Remus shifted his weight where he stood by the door.

“I doubt it,” he said slowly, his eyes darting between the two boys. Sirius ground his jaw, determined to make this work.

“So we show James’s dad the letter, and then we figure out what to do from there.”

“Please, Sirius, this is just going to make things worse…” said Remus.

“How? How could things possibly get any worse? Some anonymous person wants to attack James’s family for helping you.” Sirius raised his hands in frustration.

“It can get worse, just trust me.”

James huffed. “I’ve got the letter, we’ll show this to my dad. Done. Remus, are you going to come?” Remus hesitated. “No? Fine. Sirius and I will go.” James went to the door with confident strides, marching downstairs, the letter in his hand. “Dad!” he bellowed, “I need to talk to you!”

While he went Remus grabbed Sirius’s arm before he was able to leave. “Please. If you do this they’ll kick us out. We’ll lose everything. We have nowhere to go,” Remus begged.

Sirius softened, resting his hand on Remus’s shoulder. “Remus, they’re not going to kick you out. You’re safe here. I promise.” He tilted his head, trying to look into Remus’s eyes, clenched shut at his words. “Is that what you’re afraid of? Getting kicked out of the Potters’?” Remus was shaking slightly, but he neither shook nor nodded his head. “Come on,” said Sirius softly, “Let’s go talk to Mr. Potter together. He can help you.” Gently, he led Remus towards Mr. Potter’s study. They passed the stairs on the way. James’s yelling had piqued the curiosity of the caucus downstairs, three pairs of curious eyes watching sharply as Sirius pushed Remus along.

When they closed the door behind them Mr. Potter was already reading the note, his mouth set in a frown. “It’s quite direct, isn’t it?” he said with a sigh, setting the letter down. Looking up at the new arrivals he added, “Remus, I’m disappointed that you didn’t bring this to anyone before now. It’s quite alarming.”

“Yes, sir,” said Remus quietly, his voice snapping to an almost military submission.

Mr. Potter’s frown deepened. “You know that we will have to show this to the aurors on the case. They’ll be able to trace the source of the letter.”

“Yes, sir,” Remus repeated, though Sirius was sure he saw him grow white with fear.

It was James who spoke, however. “But Dad, Sirius said that Rookwood was a Death Eater.” At this Remus’s face whipped toward Sirius, his eyes wide.

Mr. Potter sighed. “Neither of you have any proof to that effect. I’ve worked with Rookwood for years. I think I would have known if he was working for this You-Know-Who that everyone’s so afraid of.”

“Aren’t you afraid of him?” Sirius asked curiously.

Mr. Potter smiled a grim sort of half smile. “I think he very much wants us to be afraid of him. I’m sure it makes his work much easier. However, I’m not much inclined to be so easily cowed, myself.” James and Sirius shared a glance. Seeing this, Mr. Potter continued, “I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything. Far from it. But I have faith in our Ministry. I’ve worked within it my whole life, and I can assure you that the system works. Just give it some time.” Mr. Potter carefully placed the letter back in its envelope, tucking the envelope underneath a paper weight. “I’ll give this to the aurors tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I’d appreciate if you boys focused on yourselves. If I’m not mistaken, James hasn’t even started his homework for the holidays. Isn’t that right?”

James flushed. “I’ll get to it,” he muttered.

“Well, that’s that then. I’ll see you boys at lunch,” Mr. Potter said, and it was clear that the discussion was closed. Like ducks in a row the boys filed out of his study and back into James’s bedroom. Remus was still white, his hands still behind his back in the same militaristic pose he had adopted when he had walked into Mr. Potter’s office.

“Is that it, then?” asked James. “Is everything going to be fine?”

Ignoring James, Remus walked into James’s room. Sharing a glance, they followed him in, shutting the door behind them. Remus stood at the foot of James’s bed with his arms folded over his chest and turned to Sirius. “Is Mr. Rookwood really a Death Eater?” he asked. “It’s important.”

Sirius was taken aback, “I-I don’t know.”

“What makes you think that he is?”

“He hangs out with a lot of my family’s Death Eater friends. That’s all I have; it’s just a suspicion.”

“So if he isn’t one, he is friends with some?” Remus asked, his whole body was snapped together tightly, as if he were a string that had been pulled tightly at either end.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Sirius.

“Then your dad can’t give them that note,” said Remus, turning this time to James. “If the aurors are actually Death Eaters, then they can’t be trusted to stop Death Eaters from hurting your family. It’ll just make your family a target.”

“But you heard what my dad said. He said Voldemort just wants everyone to be afraid of him.” But Remus was already shaking his head.

“There’s a difference between not being afraid and pretending like there’s nothing wrong. There is something wrong, and that something is You Know Who.”

“Is that who’s threatening you, Remus?” Sirius asked. “Death Eaters?” As Remus stood there in front of him, his soft lips parted partway, and he felt a sickly quiver in his gut. There was so little that he knew about this boy he had so often kissed.

The boy twisted on the spot, reaching for the door, reaching to run. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I should go.”

“Go where? Remus, stop!” Sirius snapped. Remus stopped, his eyes wide in surprise. Cowed, he moved back. Sirius didn’t know why he had yelled, but he couldn’t give up now he started. “If you go, I’m going, too.”

Instead of the irritation he had expected to see on his best friend’s face, there was consideration. Sirius’s heart sunk. James ran his hand through his messy hair, his eyes bearing into Sirius. “Maybe that’s best,” he whispered, in a way that sounded like he had found dragons, not like he was telling them to leave his house and their shared place of refuge. Sirius tried not to show his hurt.

“Fine, then,” he said, taking a step toward the bedroom door, “I’ll go.”

James snapped out of his trance, “No! That’s not what I meant. Well, kind of.”

Sirius stepped back, hesitant, “What did you mean?”

“It might sound crazy, but what if there’s something we can do?” James said. Behind his glasses, his eyes sparkled with the same mischief they usually held when he was about to suggest something mad.

Something Sirius always agreed to.

“Like what?” Sirius asked cautiously.

“Like go to the Minister of Magic. He’ll care about this, he has to! If they find out that there are aurors who work for Voldemort then they’ll get rid of them. Maybe they’ll know who’s threatening Remus. If nothing else maybe they can tell us how to protect ourselves. If we can talk to the Minister of Magic, then we go straight to the source and it won’t even matter that the aurors are working with Voldemort.” James said excitedly. Sirius could feel James’s excitement catching on - it was hard not to be excited when James was - but doubted it was a good idea.

“Why the Ministry? What if they don’t help?” Sirius said.

“They will,” James replied, “My dad used to work there, remember?”

“Yeah, but your dad is going tomorrow to talk to the aurors,” Sirius reminded him.

“So, we get there before him. We’ll take the letter and we’ll leave tonight. They’ll want to protect our family. And they know things we don’t. They can help, all we need to do is ask. And even if the Minister of Magic won’t see us, then there will be plenty of other aurors who will. Ones that aren’t working for Voldemort. I’m sure of it,” James continued.

“James-” Sirius said.

“What makes you think the Minister of Magic would have any interest in helping you? Especially if I have something to do with it?” Remus asked, clearly uncomfortable at James’s enthusiasm.

“We’re Potters. The name means something in England. I know my plan sounds mad, maybe, but it’s brilliant, isn’t it?” he said.

No, Sirius thought, but instead of trying to convince James of the plan’s flaws, he reminded him of his parents, “What are you going to tell your mum and dad?”

“We’ll leave a note; they’ll understand,” James replied. He huffed, “Look, if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to, but I’m going.”

“That’s not what I said,” Sirius said.

James’s eyes flashed. With what, Sirius wasn’t sure. “Then are you with me?” James asked.

There was only one answer for Sirius.

“You’re a prat,” Sirius grumbled, knowing he never could say no to James.

“No,” Remus said suddenly.

“No what?” he asked. Surely he didn’t mean James wasn’t a prat. He knew Remus thought he was.

“Neither of you have the slightest idea of what you’re getting yourselves into. If I leave and you’re with me then whoever is sending me these threats could hurt you, too. I can’t let that be my fault,” he said. His hands, usually relaxed, were tellingly clenched into fists at his sides. Sirius glanced to James, wondering if his best friend would yell or launch into some rash brand of heroics. He didn’t look far from it.

“You can’t go _alone_ -” Sirius began.

At the same time James snapped, “I’m going. You can go or not go, but I’m going. I’m not letting my family get hurt. And if you’re so worried about us, you should just tell us what you think this is all about!”

Remus just closed his eyes, as if keeping them open was painful. “Please,” he said finally, “Please don’t come. Just let me handle this.”

Perhaps if James and Remus were friends James would have let him, but as it was James couldn’t trust the lives of the ones he loved to boy he neither knew nor particularly liked. Instead he shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.”

Remus bit his lip and turned his eyes away as though he could no longer bear to look. His voice sounded defeated when he finally spoke. “Then what are we going to do?”

“We’ll sneak away tonight and leave my parents a note. Maybe we’ll lie and say we’re off to Diagon Alley early or something, I dunno. We just need to leave without my mum knowing; she’d never let us go anywhere alone. Which is ridiculous, seeing as you just travelled across the country for weeks by yourself-”

“Your mum didn’t know about that,” Sirius reminded him. James’s plan sounded pretty crap, but he couldn’t back out now.

“We’ll be back by dinner tomorrow,” James said. Remus had begun to rub his forehead. Sirius couldn’t blame him. James often gave him a headache, too. Seeing Sirius’s hesitation James said, “Neither of you need to come, but I am doing it either way.”

The worst part was, Sirius believed him. James never made idle threats - he was far to rash and stubborn to play manipulative games. James would be going tonight whether Sirius and Remus were with him or not, and that could mean that James could be in danger, and that was something which Sirius could not allow. It mattered not whether he was James’s lover or just his friend, he would do the same for him either way.

“I’m coming with you,” Sirius reminded his friend.

“I know,” said James, “but what about him?”

For a moment Sirius wondered if Remus would say no. His eyes were fixed ahead of him, full of tension that wouldn’t leave. “I don’t have a choice.”

For the while that followed they discussed the mechanics of their plan - if it could be called that. It was neither complicated nor dangerous, but Sirius could see that Remus worried nevertheless, and that made Sirius worry, too. However, even if Sirius was scared and even if he doubted the merit or wisdom in his James’s plan, he had to trust - or maybe even just hope - that what they were doing was right, or perhaps even simply not wrong.

 


	7. London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They embark for London, and Remus takes them to a place to rest their heads.

**CHAPTER 7**

 

The sky was black above their heads, the waxing moon shimmering soft light on their fleeing forms. James, Remus, and Sirius were only two blocks away from the house, each carrying a bag of overnight gear, when James made them stop. They were going to London. In London they would be alone enough to move without watching eyes, and in London was Lily Evans. He remembered the glimmer of a silver chain thrown at a wall and then recovered by his doting hands. Her chain. While James had planned to give it to her on the train, perhaps, he thought, tomorrow would be even better.

“I’ll be right back,” he said suddenly. Both Sirius and Remus stopped in their tracks, glancing at each other and then him, confused.

“But-” Sirius began, speaking for both boys.

“I’m coming back, don’t worry. Just- I’ll be back in a minute,” James said and turned away to jog to the house without another word.

The house was still frozen in its stillness, like a had spell had been cast to stop the time. Only the ticking of the kitchen clock gave any indication that the house was not empty. Nevertheless, James crept back home and into his bedroom to retrieve the chain with the little heart pendant. This he managed without error or fault, but somehow he must have alerted the household to his presence, because as he left his own bedroom a figure tiptoed to his side. It couldn’t have been the stairs that had creaked or the door that had opened. He hadn’t even turned on the light. He could only assume his witness had sensed him coming in the same way he sometimes sensed someone staring at the back of his neck. Or maybe she had noticed them leaving but had kept it to herself. Whatever alerted her, Althea stood by James’s side, her eyes wide with trepidation.

“James?” she whispered quietly enough so that he could hear but no one else could. Her voice was smooth and high with the murmuring whisper that innocence carried.

“Go back to bed, Althea,” he replied. She didn’t seem convinced of his innocence, probably because he was fully dressed after midnight when she had seen him in night clothes mere hours before.

“You’re all leaving, aren’t you?” she asked, “It’s because of those letters, isn’t it?” Her lower lip quivered as she spoke. James felt the sudden need to comfort her. He didn’t. She wasn’t his sister. When he hesitated, she continued, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. I just wish I could come with you.”

“Erm-”

“Am I wrong?” she asked. Again, James hesitated. He had never heard her speak so much before, never in such long sentences. Maybe she felt safer to speak under the cover of night, but even that explanation brought with it a host of questions. He didn’t want to lie to her, but it seemed like the only thing to do.

“Eh, no,” he said. James was never able to do the right thing.

Althea nodded curtly, the tears behind her eyes pummelling forward in an attempt to meet air. She breathed a little too loudly for James’s nerves, her airways blocked by the unpleasantness of the mucus brought by tears. “Okay. Is Remus going with you?” she asked.

James nodded.

Althea breathed out again, this time through her mouth. She wrapped herself in her own twiggy ten year old arms as if protecting herself from his words. “Will you-” she stopped herself, her words nearly drowned in the shortness in sound that comes from trying not to cry. “Will you look after him? He isn’t as smart as he looks.”

To James, Remus Lupin didn’t look very smart at all, but he didn’t say that to his little sister. “Er, okay,” he replied, hoping he sounded at least a little convincing.

“And tell him-” she choked again on her tears. James couldn’t help but admire her willpower; not a drop had fallen onto the girl’s face, “Tell him I’m not mad.”

“Why should you be mad?” James asked, unable to help his curiosity, but Althea just shook her head.

“He’ll know.”

“If you don’t mind,” James said, unable to stop himself from wondering, “why are you so upset? We’re just going to the Ministry.” If anything, her face grew paler. “To get help, so no one attacks the house-is that bad?” Mute again, Althea shook her head. James didn’t need to whisper to a wall of silence. He sighed. “I’ll do my best to protect your brother,” he said. “We’ll be back tomorrow night. You don’t need to worry about us.” He gave the petrified girl an awkward pat on the shoulder, and tiptoed back down the stairs, occasionally glancing behind him to check on her. She was watching for a little while, but soon enough she turned away, walking back into her room with an anxious sort of purpose.

Past his family’s wards of protection, James sped his walk into a run. His meeting with Althea gave him more questions than answers, but he hadn’t expected to find either in a discussion with Remus’s eleven year old sister. He hadn’t expected to discuss anything with her at all.

He found Sirius and Remus not long after in the spot where he left them. As soon as he saw him, Sirius took out his wand. “What did you have to get so badly?” Sirius asked.

“Nothing,” James lied. Sirius looked skeptical, but didn’t press.

“Everybody ready?” Sirius asked, “No more mysterious items we’ve got to get from the house?”

“Just ‘cause I’m not telling you what it was doesn’t mean it’s not important,” James interjected. Sirius ignored him, and all he got from Remus was a patiently amused glance.

“Then I’m calling the Knight Bus,” Sirius announced.

“Why don’t you guys just apparate?” Remus asked.

“We don’t have our apparition licenses yet,” Sirius explained.

“Ah,” said Remus, and Sirius held out his wand to summon the bus with a flourish. Before long, the hideous purple bus barrelled its way onto the quiet street, mercifully far away from the Potter’s house. James climbed in first, and paid for each of their tickets.

Throughout the night witches and wizards entered and exited as they arrived at their various stops. Although usually James was a heavy sleeper, tonight he couldn’t seem to fall asleep at all and so watched the quiet flow of people coming in and out. The Knight Bus tended to attract a seedier sort than he was used to seeing, whether in his neighbourhood or at Hogwarts. He watched them with sleepy fascination until his eyelids finally closed and didn’t open again until he felt arms shaking his shoulder. It was still night.

“Hey, James, wake up.” It was Remus. James grunted groggily, and Remus shook him again. “It’s our stop. We’ve got to get off, now,” he said, and shook Sirius.

“Hurry up,” the old hag on the bus said grumpily as the three boys exited. James shot her a tired glance but didn’t reply. The darkness in the summer sky and the weariness of his skin told him he hadn’t slept nearly long enough. To give her a response was too tiring by far.

“The ministry won’t be open right now,” Remus pointed out, “it’s too early.”

“So what do we do?” asked Sirius.

They were looking at him, James noticed with a start. Even Remus. James shrugged, “Find somewhere to sleep, I guess. Who knows what will happen tomorrow.”

“We should stay in a muggle place. I’d rather we didn’t meet anyone we know,” said Remus. James nodded.

“Or,” said Sirius, “We could just not sleep.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Remus replied and rubbed his arms. Summer never really hit England properly to begin with, and nighttime was even colder.

“There’s got to be somewhere with an opening,” James said.

“Wait, did you even bring any muggle money?” Remus asked. Sirius swore and James felt a flush rise to his cheeks.

“Well, no-”

Sirius’s curses became instantly more colorful.

“But there’s always the exchange-” James added weakly.

“James, it’s got to be two in the morning. Gringotts is closed,” said Remus. Sirius continued to swear. “Si, stop it,” Remus said brusquely. James sent Sirius a puzzled look at the overly familiar nickname, but Sirius didn’t seem to notice. “Look, just follow me.” Remus said and then suddenly set off at a quick pace on a small street veering away from Charing Cross Road, where the Knight Bus had dropped them off.

“Where are you going?” James asked.

“We can just magic the money - Remus, where are you going?” asked Sirius. Remus turned the corner and they had to trot to keep up. He stopped at a building labelled ‘library’. Clean white brick framed an ancient looking stone door in the shape of a Roman arch and bolted with a large, heavy, intricate-looking lock. “Why are you stopping at a library?” James asked, but Remus only glared and rolled his eyes before pressing his palm against the wall by the door and muttering something under his breath.

The lock clicked open with a whirr of gears and the door seemed to loosen, inviting them in. Remus glanced at them quickly before pushing the door open without a creak. Inside was a long hallway that looked nothing like the inside of a library. James stepped in first, hesitantly looking around. “What is this place?” he asked. The hallway smelled like the old stone it was built out of. For as far as he could see down the hallway there were periodic interlinking passages. Small candles lit its length, their flames flickering against the old rock. “Remus… Where are we?”

Remus clicked the door shut behind them. “It’s a safe place… for those who know about it.” It looked strange to see the old walls, to feel the coolness made by the stone’s complete neglect by the sun. From the inside the door had a metal lining and frosted glass. Though it had been opaque from the outside, from the inside they could see the lamplit streets of London.

Remus began walking again, then turned right into another hallway that looked identical to the first. “Wait,” James interjected, “how do you know about this place?” He could tell Remus was uncomfortable as he shrugged his shoulders.

“When my dad got fired we needed a safe place, so… someone… showed us about this one. We think this place might be just as old as it looks, too,” he said.

“And how old is that?” James asked, noticing Sirius’s silence. The other boy seemed deep in thought.

“No one knows. Rumours say it might have been built during the first Roman occupation of Britain,” Remus said. He glanced back just before turning left again, and then right. James let out a low whistle. Finally Remus stopped in front of a doorway, plucked a candle from the wall and held it in front of him so that its light shone on the room. It cast a warm fluttering light on the the four small walls before them. “Good,” he muttered under his breath and shooed them inside before placing the candle back on the wall outside. The only light left was the light flickering in from the hallway.

“Why don’t we bring that in?” asked James and made a move to grab the candle. Remus’s hand stopped him.

“It’s better if no one can see us. You never know who else is looking for a safe place. These rooms are more protected than the hallways, but they also have only one exit. So… no lights,” he said.

“We didn’t have to do this, you know. We could have just transfigured some muggle money.” James huffed, “This place creeps me out.”

“Do you even know what muggle money looks like?” Remus replied. James glared.

“We’re doing this for you, you know,” he said.

“No,” Remus reminded him, his voice touched by bitterness, “we’re doing this for you. If it was for me, neither of you would be here. Look, I’m going to sleep. You two can do what you want.”

“Do you have a problem with us?” he asked. He couldn’t see very well at all, but he thought he saw Remus glance at Sirius. Something seemed to fall from Remus’s face, and beneath it James caught a glimpse of hard exhaustion.

“No, James,” he said, his voice sounding strangely small. “Just let me sleep.” At that Remus shifted until his back was against the wall and away from any light. James glanced at Sirius, who sat with his back against the corner nearest to James, his knees pulled into his chest and looking far too large to be compacted into so tight a space. James had hoped his friend would match his exasperated gaze. Instead, Sirius looked meek and thoughtful. James looked away. He felt like he was trespassing on something private.

Sensing the quiet of the room, James found himself his own dark space and rested his head on the crook of his arm. He decided then that he hated sleeping on bare floor, especially when that floor was made of stone. Protruding cobbles stuck into his side and along his arm making it difficult for him to fall asleep with his regular speed. He tried closing his eyes and letting the silence lull him to sleep, but instead of silence his ears couldn’t help but be drawn to a low thumping through the walls. Remembering what Remus had said about the other people here he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore it, but the thumping wouldn’t go away. His mind jumped suddenly to what Althea had said earlier that night. “Remus,” he began quietly. Remus stirred; to James’s surprise the other boy had actually been sleeping on this hard ground. “I saw Althea in the house-”

For the first time in a while, Sirius spoke, “You what? Why didn’t you say anything? She’ll say something to James’s parents-”

“Actually,” James interrupted, “I don’t think she will.” He lifted himself up onto his side to continue talking. “The thing is, she said something weird. She wanted me to pass it on. She said, tell Remus I’m not mad. Does that mean anything to you?”

Remus didn’t say anything for a minute, and then replied, “No.”

“Oh,” James said, disappointed. “She also said you weren’t as smart as you look.”

“Did she?” Remus asked.

“She did,” James affirmed. Remus snorted.

“Go to sleep James,” he sighed. It wasn’t long before Remus’s breathing once again became slow and languid, sounding hollow in the tiny room they shared. Feeling frustrated, James looked at Sirius drooping awkwardly in the corner.

“Mate are you going to sleep in the corner? Come sleep next to me,” he whispered. For a moment Sirius froze. “You don’t have to, Sirius. I don’t mean to be a fag, you just look uncomfortable.” Sirius laughed awkwardly, his laugh sounding more like a high outburst of breath than a laugh at all.

“No, it’s fine,” he said, and crawled over to James. James let him manoeuvre around him so that Sirius lay against the wall instead. More space this way, he thought and stretched back out in the dark space where the light didn’t reach his skin, making sure to give Sirius space. He doubted Sirius would want to be crowded. His eyes closed, and he finally fell asleep to that steady pounding through the walls.

 

**~*~**

 

Thump. Thump. Thump. The pounding was in James’s ears and reverberated through his bones. What was that noise? James got up. That clanging of metal sounded like his mother banging pots on the counter, and she only did that when she was frustrated. What had Ethel from her witch’s book club said this week?

He got up from his bed and walked to the thumping. Sometimes he went the wrong way and he would stumble and bump through the corridors of his home, but then he would find his way again. It felt like the kitchen was miles away, and he still hadn’t even come across the stairs.

Clang. Clang. Clang. It was growing louder now. The thumping sounded more like clanging with every step, but he didn’t - couldn’t - understand how his mother was making so much noise with the pots.

For a moment the noise was so loud James wanted to hold his hands over his ears and yell at his mother to ask her what she was doing banging such big pots together. The noise had stopped being distant, after all. She was close now. She was in front of him.

Then the thumping - the clanging - stopped. Suddenly. He had relaxed for a moment, but then his mother spoke. “Look what we have here. A sleepwalker. What do you think we should do about that, Adam?”

And just like that, James’s eyes opened. He had been dreaming.

Fear washed him from head to toe. Not his mother, but instead two very large shirtless men soaked in their own sweat stood in front of him. Both were carrying pickaxes, and only the growing hole in the ceiling gave James any indication of what they were doing. It had to be them that had been making that thumping noise all night long. He wished he hadn’t noticed.

“I can’t imagine He will like that we’ve had to stop, can you, Collin?” the one James presumed was named Adam asked. He, like Collin, was lean and muscular, although he was a fair bit older and smaller than the other, younger man. James found himself thinking they both had a feral look about them. If they had been dogs they would have been strays with muscled legs and wild eyes and maybe even rabies. Adam crossed his arms over his chest and licked his long tongue over pointed incisors. Collin, as if on queue, took a menacing step forward. Collin was a big, young man who looked like he picked fights for a living. His step made James’s stomach lurch.

“No, I can’t imagine He will,” Adam replied and uncrossed his arms.

James had always imagined that if he ever found himself in peril he would rise bravely to the occasion, brandish his wand and save the day. He had always known himself to be strong and honourable - it was why he was in Gryffindor, after all. Now, though, his legs felt like molten jelly and his heart quivered with the intensity of an earthquake. He felt empty save for that feeling of terror. He was helpless here. They stood in front of him, and what did he have? Nothing.

“Aw, look,” Collin said, “he’s scared.”

“As he should be,” said Adam in return. Collin held the pickaxe to James’s throat, the end pricking blood from his neck. James closed his eyes. Why couldn’t he think? Suddenly Collin’s head turned away from him, and a moment later Adam’s head turned, too. James was only able to hear the footsteps a full minute later, but couldn’t react because of the blade at his throat.

In an instant Remus had tackled Collin, thrusting him away from James, and jumped on his back, causing the bigger man to howl. Remus had his arms around Collin’s neck, using his legs to hang on. When Collin tried to swing his pickaxe at Remus’s head, Remus bit Collin’s ear and yanked with his teeth. Remus was outnumbered so long as James did nothing. Adam, seeing that Remus was the greater threat, came at Remus with his axe.

“Remus!” James shouted, warning his friend. Remus looked up and abandoned Collin’s ear, thrusting the man to the ground. Collin stumbled but did not fall. Remus ducked from his swing, grabbing Adam’s arms to knee him in the gut before sweeping his loosened leg. He anticipated Collin’s swing, sidestepping him, backing away from his two attackers.

James watched all of this with horror, feeling helpless. For the first time he realized how strong he wasn’t. It was then that Sirius, panting, wide-eyed, and confused stumbled into the small room, holding himself up with the doorway. “What the…” Sirius began fumbling in his pocket.

His pocket. James felt at his side. He hadn’t even noticed his wand, hadn’t even remembered it. He was a wizard, this wasn’t supposed to be difficult. Especially since, James realized suddenly, neither of their attackers had wands.

“Sirius!” he cried, “they’re unarmed!”

James’s wand was already out. He barely remembered removing it from his pocket. He was darting quickly around the edge of the fight, trying to find a spot where he could aim properly. Remus was lost in a mess of limbs, moving so fast that James was worried his spell would hit Remus instead of his attackers. Sirius was on his other side, wand out, about to cast a spell, but the small one saw his outstretched wand and tackled him to the ground. Sirius’s wand slipped from his grip. He was grasping at the earth, but Adam saw his distraction as a chance to pummel Sirius’s face with his fists, his knee on his diaphragm.

There was a sudden thud from Remus's direction. “Now, James!” Remus cried at the same time that James yelled, “Stupefy!” and then “Stupefy!” again to hit the one that Remus had knocked to the ground.

James turned to where his best mate lay on the floor struggling to breathe. The other guy had knocked the wind out of him and made his face a mess of blood and bruises. James shoved the stupefied man off of him with some difficulty, giving Sirius the chance to breathe. “Jesus, mate, can you stand?” he asked. Sirius just glared and tried to heave himself up, then gave up and dropped back down.

“Sirius-” Remus said. James eyed the other boy suspiciously. A moment ago Remus had been beating up a bigger, stronger man and now he was speaking with soft gentility. It was unnerving. Unnerving as Remus was, though, James was still stuck with him at least until the end of the day, and it would do him no good to dwell while Sirius needed his help.

“ _Episkey,_ ” he said, and Sirius’s face began its mend. A thin sheen of sweat had cropped up on James’s brow. He wiped it off. It was cold.

“Thanks, James,” said Remus.

“He’s my best mate,” James replied, trying to sound angry, but he was too shaken. He hadn’t done it for Remus. In reply Remus glanced down and scratched the back of his neck. “Eh, we should probably go before they wake up,” he said, bending down to help Sirius up.

“Put me down,” Sirius grumbled when Remus almost lifted him into his arms, “I can walk.” Remus shrugged.

The three boys left the room a little bit more slowly than they would have liked; Sirius could breathe now, but he couldn’t seem to walk as well as usual. Remus led the way, stopping first at the room they’d slept in to pick up their abandoned bags, as only he knew where they were going. James couldn’t have found his way back if he had tried. The hallways were like an endless cobweb and everything looked exactly the same.

They came to the exit much sooner than James would have expected, though the door didn’t look quite right. Nevertheless, he pushed it open and Sirius and Remus followed. “ _Coloportus_ ,” James said quickly, and the door locked. It was still pitch dark outside, proof that they really hadn’t slept much at all.

“This isn’t-” James began.

“I know,” said Remus, “it’s Westminster. The ministry should be nearby. We need to find somewhere to sleep. There’s a place I know, it’s a bit far but it’s close to Diagon Alley-“

“Bloody hell, Remus. Your last suggestion nearly got us killed,” said James. The street lamps threw long shadows onto his form as he rifled through his bag for his coin purse, taking out a fistful of galleons. “Do either of you have the slightest idea of what muggle money looks like?”

Sirius outstretched his hand. “Really regretting not taking that Muggle Studies course now, aren’t you?”

“Bugger off, Sirius. You and I both know you just took it so you could shag Melissa Brighton.”

“And look where it’s gotten me now,” Sirius replied cooly with a grin. “Give it here.”

James emptied his galleons into his friends hand, “You never did shag her, did you?”

Instead of replying, Sirius spelled the hunk of coins, and they unfurled into a messy stack of bills.

“I’ve alway thought it strange that muggles use paper for money. Paper’s not even worth anything,” said James, picking up a bill and carefully examining the front and back.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius snorted with a shake of his head. The money transfigured, James took the bills from Sirius and waved them in his face.

“I’m holding onto this,” he said.

“Yeah, yeah.” Sirius, whose family usually lived in London, led the way this time. Remus straggled behind the two friends, his arms warily folded over his chest.

The closest hotel wasn’t very far at all. The man tending the front desk was sleeping on his keyboard under the bright halogen lights. Sirius had to clear his throat loudly before he even noticed they were there, awaking with a start. He couldn’t have been too much older than they were, maybe in his mid-twenties or so. He smacked his lips together in an attempt to wake himself, his eyes bloodshot and his face covered in a five o’clock shadow several days old.

He cleared his throat. “What you want?” he asked in a thick cockney accent.

“Just a room,” Sirius replied.

“‘How many beds?” he asked. James and Sirius glanced at each other.

“What’s cheapest?” asked James.

The man curled his lips around as if in thought. “We’ve only got a two-bedder right now.”

James rolled his eyes, “Well, then we’ll take that. How much?”

“Sixty quid for the night,” the man said. James was too tired to argue. Painstakingly he counted out sixty pounds and placed the money on the counter. The boy scribbled something in his book and then put the money in the till while James’s heart thundered along, but Sirius had done well at transfiguring the money.

They were given the keys without fanfare, after which the boys stumbled tiredly into their room. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” Remus volunteered as they walked up the steps. James felt a hint of relief. He hadn’t wanted to share his bed with Remus either.

“Why not just share the bed with James and I?” Sirius asked, and James shrugged, but Remus just shook his head.

“Naw, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

When they entered the simple room there was a lounge chair nestled into one corner. “I’ll sleep on that instead, if that’s fine,” Remus said, changing his mind. James shrugged and went to claim the bed on the room’s far side. He shoved his hands in his pockets to check that Lily’s chain was still where he’d left it. It was, but he didn’t know how much longer he could count on luck to keep it there. He fastened it around his own neck, not caring that the heart-shaped pendant looked girly.

“What’s that?” Sirius asked. James flinched. He had hoped that Sirius wouldn’t notice.

“Uh, it’s Lily’s necklace. She dropped it that day she asked me out,” he said sheepishly as he took off his shirt, then pants. He could hear the other two boys changing behind him, too.

“And you didn’t give it back to her?” Sirius asked from behind him, sounding dumbfounded.

“I’m going to!” James protested, shoving on his pyjama top.

Sirius snorted, “And until then you’ll look a right poof. You should add earrings while you’re at it.”

“Lay off it, Sirius,” Remus grumbled, and for once James didn’t want to punch him in the face.

“I’m just teasing. James knows that, eh James?” Sirius said with his usual easy nonchalance. James did know.

“You’re just jealous because she won’t fuck you,” James said. He slipped under the sheets and pulled them around his head.

“She won’t fuck you either!” Sirius pointed out. Looking at his friend, James noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“But she’s going to fuck me, mate. That’s the difference. She’ll never fuck you,” James yawned. “Just wait, Si. It’ll be legs and cunt for me till my dying day.”

Sirius snorted, “Maybe in your dreams. Oh wait, she rejects you there, too.”

“You’ve got that wrong. Dream Lily is very enthusiastic,” James corrected him, his eyes closing.

“You two are disgusting,” said Remus from the chair in the corner. Not me, I’m in love, James meant to reply, unaware that he hadn’t said it out loud because he had already fallen asleep.

 

**~*~**

 

It always mystified Sirius how quickly James could fall asleep, and how heavily, too. He waved his hand in James’s face. Nothing. After a moment he turned, feeling the weight of a gaze on his back. “What?” he asked Remus, who sat in his chair watching him. For a moment he didn’t say anything.

“Why were you saying those things?” he asked.

“What?” Sirius asked back, hoping Remus didn’t mean what he thought he did.

“You know, to James, about Lily,” Remus said. Sirius backed up to the bed’s headboard and shrugged uncomfortably.

“We’re guys, we joke about stuff like that.”

“You don’t,” said Remus. Sirius made the mistake of catching his eyes with his own. They were tender and soft like he hadn’t expected them to be, and it made him feel like crumbling.

“Not around you,” Sirius insisted anyway. When Remus didn’t say anything, he felt the need to keep talking, “It’s funny. We insult each other and say dirty stuff — do you really not do that?”

Remus shook his head. “What about what you said about Lily? Did you really try-”

Sirius shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

“Why?” Remus asked.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time. Can we not talk about this?” he asked. For a moment, Remus looked almost hurt, and Sirius found himself hurting, too. He didn’t want to see Remus sad. But then, Remus brightened. He was doing it for him, Sirius knew, and the thought made him feel both good and bad. The other boy lifted himself from the chair and went to Sirius. He placed a finger underneath his chin, tilting his face to his. He kissed him tenderly, and Sirius felt his heart leap in his throat. All he wanted was to touch him, for Remus to touch him back.

He thought about stopping him, about reminding him of James sleeping right there, but he couldn’t. Instead of saying no, Sirius pulled him close and kissed him. He rested his hands on Remus’s hips, keeping them where he needed them to be. Remus’s hands ran over his naked arms, and it felt as electric as if he were standing in a lightning storm.

Wanting, wanting, Sirius moved his hands, but Remus drew back and the world grew dim. “You’re thinking about James,” Remus whispered, his face just inches away. Sirius knew he was right, but right now he didn’t care.

“I wasn’t,” he lied. He could read the doubt in Remus’s face, but apparently Remus didn’t care either, because a moment later he and his mouth were back where they were meant to be.

His lips throbbed when they stopped. He ached, helped all the more by laying in Remus’s arms. James’s snores were quiet but loud in the silence of the room. It was like Remus was magic, and just by being there he could make everything better. The ache for James hurt less when he was there, and he was cute and sensitive and he listened like he really cared. No one else did that like Remus did.

He trailed his fingers along Remus’s stomach, felt him tense with his touch, rested his hand on his chest. “Do you like me, Remus?” he asked, and immediately regretted it. Remus’s face looked pained at the question.

“Of course I do, Sirius,” he replied huskily, causing Sirius to take another look. Perhaps it wasn’t only pain.

“But I’m not the only one you’ve ever liked, right?”

Remus wouldn’t look at him. “I’ve dated before, you already knew that.”

“But have you ever been in love?” Sirius wanted to hit himself. It would have been less stupid than asking the questions he was asking. The look of pain on Remus’s face deepened for an instant, he thought, but then it disappeared completely, replaced by a smile.

“Not with my best mate, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said. It wasn’t. “God, you’re such a stereotype, Sirius. The closet poof that falls in love with his best friend.” Sirius tried to smile, but it hurt. He hadn’t thought about James in that way for ages. Why did Remus have to remind him? Why had he had to ask? He was so stupid.

“Maybe you should go back to your chair,” he said, peeling himself off of Remus, not looking at his troublesome face before settling on the other side of the bed.

“Yeah, James could see. Wouldn’t want that, would we?” Remus replied, lurching onto the floor before dropping into his seat.

“Nope,” said Sirius.

Both boys were quiet, then, and they stayed quiet until morning.

 


	8. The Ministry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys finally visit the Ministry of Magic.

**CHAPTER 8**

 

For the late night they’d had, they woke up relatively early. Remus’s eyes were stained with purple bags that hung like limp sacks. He couldn’t have slept well in the chair, and Sirius wondered guiltily if perhaps he should have let him sleep in the bed with him after all. James had woken up only a few minutes before Sirius, but he was already dressed. When he saw that Sirius was awake, he greeted him with a nod. “Oi, Sirius, Remus got another letter.”

Sirius forced himself to blink the sleep from his eyes and lift himself out of bed. “What does it say?”

Remus reached into his pocket and read, “You can run, but you can’t hide. Signed, You Know Who.”

“Little wolf,” James interjected, “It says you can run but you can’t hide, _little wolf_. What could that mean?”

“That’s weird. Do you have any idea, Rem?” Sirius asked. Remus shook his head stiffly.

“No,” he said.

“Weird,” Sirius muttered again to himself. It took him no more than a minute to throw on his change of clothes, although he lacked any sizeable mirror to look at himself with before he left. A minute of brushing their teeth and the boys were ready to leave the motel. They all wished they could sleep a little longer but Remus’s letter had scared them. Until they were safe, really safe, none of them thought they should stay in any one place for too long, especially since it seemed that even the owls knew where to find them.

Luckily Westminster was central enough that they could get anywhere on the muggle buses within twenty minutes. The whole time they were on the bus James was looking shiftily-eyed at the muggles in their colourful clothes and the homely dressed seniors on the bus for their day out, so much so that Sirius had to knee him several times to tell him to stop being so suspicious.

Once they were off the bus both James and Sirius walked familiarly towards the Ministry. James had been there before with his father. Sirius’s family lived in London, so even though he hadn’t gone inside before he still knew where to find it. By the comfortable way Remus regarded their path Sirius had to assume that the Ministry wasn’t new to him either.

It was as early as nine-thirty in the morning when they arrived at the red muggle telephone booth, but no visitors were waiting to enter the Ministry that morning. The boys managed to all cram into the booth at the same time, although their bulk left barely any room to breathe. James was the closest to the dialling pad, so it fell to him to punch in the number.

“Look,” Remus said, “It spells out magic. 6-2-4-4-2. Magic.”

“Well, that’s unoriginal,” said Sirius.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic,” said a woman’s voice, cool and crisp, coming from the telephone box, “Please state your name and business.” Sirius felt comforted that he wasn’t the only boy to twitch enough at the surprise of her voice that the three of them together shook the telephone booth.

“Uh…” James replied smartly.

“I’m Remus Lupin, this is James Potter, and this is Sirius Black. We’re here for a meeting with the Minister of Defence,” said Remus calmly. James and Sirius looked at each other. They hadn’t said anything about meeting a minister of defence. They had wanted to speak to the Minister of Magic.

“Thank you,” said the voice. “Visitors, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes.” Three square silver badges stating their names above the word ‘Visitor’ came shooting out of a silver chute. James and Sirius pinned theirs quickly to their chest. Remus used a napkin from his pack to pin his on.

“You never know how many people have used these before. You can never be too careful,” he said. James rolled his eyes while the welcome witch began to speak again.

“Visitors to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

“Do you know where that is?” Sirius asked James, but James shook his head. He looked about to say something else when the floor beneath the telephone booth quaked and they began to sink into the ground. He wondered if the muggles outside could see the telephone booth disappearing into the concrete, but he was sure they had magicked it somehow so they couldn’t. Blackness surrounded them when they dipped below the pavement. For a moment that was all they saw, and then a golden strand of light wrapped around them from the bottom up.

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day,” said the welcome witch, and the door to the telephone box burst open.

Silence.

The hall, normally full of witches and wizards coming in and coming out and using floo powder to enter and to leave, always chatting and always queuing, was empty. “Hello?” called James, stepping out of the phone booth. His voice echoed through the hall.

“James-” Sirius gripped his wrist, “Be careful. You might not like who hears you.” James paused, his eyes scanning up and down Sirius’s face, and then pulled his wrist from Sirius’s arm. He didn’t call again, to Sirius’s relief, but instead the crackpot marched forward into the Ministry. Hastily, Sirius followed. When he glanced back to the telephone booth a moment later Sirius saw Remus had pulled himself out, too, and was only a few steps behind them.

“Do you think it’s a holiday? Take your ministry worker to the park day or something?” Sirius muttered.

Remus had fallen in behind them both by the time they reached the edge of the hall. He stopped to stare at the fountain. “That statue has always bothered me,” he said mildly. Then Remus paused, his eyes expanding and contracting in surprise, and his body tensing with fear. As quickly as the expression passed over his face he turned foot to catch up to them, leaving Sirius to wonder what he had meant by always.

“James,” said Remus, behind them as they walked, “We need to leave. It’s a Tuesday. There should be people here.” James wasn’t listening. Remus quickened his step and grabbed the back of James's shirt.

James slowed, rocking back on his heel. “And so what if there is something wrong, Remus?” he asked impatiently.

“I don’t know, James, but we just got attacked by two werewolves this morning, so I’m not sure that I want to find out!” Remus snapped, his voice an echoing whisper.

“What?” Sirius interrupted. “Werewolves?” He walked to join Remus and James. They were barely a foot apart now. James’s hands were shoved into his pockets, his glasses prim on his nose, his eyes fixed on Remus with that determined stare that Sirius knew all too well.

“That’s not the point,” Remus continued, “the point is that we could be putting ourselves in a very dangerous situation right now, and we need to get out of here.” He was gesturing emphatically at James, but James was determinedly still.

“So you’re suggesting that if it’s dangerous we should leave?” James replied calmly. Sirius might have called his expression wicked.

“Yes!” said Remus. Sirius backed up a foot.

“And what if someone needs help?” James asked. “If something bad has happened, it has probably happened to someone.” And there it was. That calm Potter fury that was far more frightening than even McGonagall’s icy stare. Sirius hoped his eyes were enough to plead with Remus to shut up and get out, but Remus wasn’t seeing him.

“James, you’re being ridiculous. This isn’t the time to discuss ethics. There is something wrong, and we need to go.”

“I am not going to run away,” said James. In that moment he seemed to decide something, and strode forward without them.

“What is it, Sirius?” Remus asked, finally noticing his alarm, but James had already rounded the corner and entered the hallway. Alone. Seeing the direction his eyes had gone, Remus cursed quietly to himself. “James, James stop!” he whispered in what was as close to a yell as a whisper could get. Sirius didn’t think. Instead he went where his feet were accustomed to going: to James. He slowed his jog to a stop when he turned the corner.

The hallway was littered with bodies.

James stood in the centre of the hallway, his hands numb against his sides. In front of him they lay in the hallway randomly. They could have been asleep. They were wearing their work clothes like it was any other day, but instead of bustling about they lay in silence.

Sirius was the first to move. “We should check,” he began, but didn’t finish his sentence. They knew what he meant. They should check if they were alive. With legs that felt like molasses he stepped toward one of the figures on the floor. He realized with relief that he didn’t recognize the man, and then felt guilty that he had been relieved. He put a shaky finger on the side of his neck next to his Adam’s apple. His skin was cold, lifeless to the touch. His heart didn’t beat.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” asked Remus softly. Sirius nodded, fighting back tears. He blinked like blinking would bring the man back, forcing the salty water to return beneath his lids. Instead he vomited on the man’s pants. A hand was on his shoulder. It was large and warm. He knew there were calluses on the skin and knuckles that were cracked and scarred. He didn’t care that James was there when Remus hugged him. He didn’t flinch, he closed his eyes and let himself feel the comfort he offered.

“Come on,” said Remus, pulling away. He offered him his hand and Sirius took it. He didn’t think James had even noticed. He was, as always, so totally and completely preoccupied that he couldn’t see what was right in front of his eyes. James had bent down to check a pulse, too. When he had found none he moved on to the next person, and then the next. Finally he stood.

“All of mine are dead, too,” he said.

“James-” said Remus.

“We’ve got to keep going,” said James. “We have to find out what happened.”

“James!” said Remus, glancing at Sirius.

“He’s right,” Sirius interjected, and wiped away the bile on his mouth with his sleeve. He and James shared a glance. There was everything in that glance. It was a renewal of vows, an exchange of trust, and a promise to each other to see this through. Every time they put themselves in trouble there was a glance like this that said to the other more than words could ever say.

Together he and James walked into the silent halls, leaving Remus footsteps behind. Their wands were ahead of them, ready and waiting. If nothing else it was clear that this bad thing had been done by somebody.

“Are you coming, Remus?” James asked dryly. Remus — no wand, not a wizard, no defences, looked terrified. Sirius had forgotten he was no wizard, and for a moment he considered telling him to go back now, to run while he still could, but then, despite his fear, Remus stepped forward, too. He didn’t say a word, didn’t open his mouth to utter a sound, but he set his face in determination and came up behind them with only his fists to brandish as weapons.

Each time they came across a door, opened or closed, one of them would look inside. Every door showed them the same thing. An office, desks, and the dead.

“Look, they’ve got a dartboard with the Minister’s face,” Sirius chuckled in one office. Although both James and Remus laughed a little to lighten the mood, he doubted any of them would find it funny for years.

Sometimes he or James would stop, recognizing a familiar face. “There is Mr. Pritchard,” James had pointed out early on. “He used to have tea with my dad sometimes,” or, “Not Ms. Sharpe!” That was from Sirius. She used to give him biscuits whenever she visited his parents’ house with her husband and children, and they had found her facedown on her desk, a stain of ink spilling from the smudge of her quill.

Later, Sirius would rationalize that they were simply too scared to mourn, but right then all they could feel was numb.

“Look at this,” said Remus. He had opened the Minister of Magic’s office. That alone was worth a measure of surprise: it was unlocked. Inside were smooth wood floors and a polished wooden desk. His secretary was slumped over on the wood. In life she would have been a pretty girl; auburn hair and smooth skin. The boys followed Remus in. He seemed to know where to go: he walked straight inside, turned to the left, and then took the sharp right turn that led to the door which read “Abelard Huckle, Minister of Magic.” The door had been left open.

“Why didn’t they apparate?” Remus asked no one in particular. He was the one to step in first, his hand never leaving the gilded doorknob.

“Oh, shit,” said Sirius, because there was Abelard Huckle, Minister of Magic, lying back on his fallen chair with his eyes wide open and his skull cracked with blood, dead. The boys backed out of the room, leaving the doorknob as they had found it, and navigated their way out of the office.

“Do you think anyone’s still alive?” Sirius wondered. He thought he heard his voice crack.

Neither Remus nor James were brave enough to answer.

The next door in the hallway was for the Minister of Defence. Sirius turned the knob, his shoe squeaking against the floor. It opened freely, just like all the others had. He hoped that the minister wasn’t in there, slumped backwards like the Minister of Magic.

The inside of the office was cool. A draft wafted out from inside. It was relatively small, just one singular office. His underlings, Sirius supposed, were in separate rooms. The walls were lined in green paisley wallpaper. The desk at the centre of the room was the stately kind of desk he would expect from a defence minister: serious, imposing, and strong. Dark wood.

The defence minister was not slumped backward in his chair, but forward on his desk, his face contorted, his mouth open and slack.

“James-” Sirius whispered.

He wore a black robe. The man across from him wore a black robe, too.

“James, James don’t come-” he whispered again, not daring to open the door.

He, too, was slumped over the desk, his forehead holding his whole body up. His familiar hands were hanging from his sides. They were just as wrinkled as they always were. The hair on the head, just as grey.

“Sirius what is it?” asked James. He wasn’t panicked enough. He didn’t understand.

Feeling cold, Sirius let James push through the parted door. As soon as he did he wished he could shut it again. Wished he had never seen what he was seeing. Wished he could protect him.

“No no no no no no no…” James began repeating. He was at the desk in the time it took for Sirius’s heart to beat twice. “Dad…” he whispered.

Remus was behind him, Sirius could feel him near somehow. “What-” he began, and then he was silent.

Sirius felt his jaw quiver. James was at his father’s side. “Dad, what are you doing here? Wake up! You weren’t supposed to be here yet!”

Of course Mr. Potter didn’t move. Of course James’s shakes, a movement that would have pained Mr. Potter when he tried to pull him up, didn’t cause him to stir. Of course he was so still. So painfully still, with the waxen look of the dead. That innate difference that even the simplest could see. A person absent of life was nothing more than a doll that would soon turn to dust. The skin, the eyes, and the firmness in the limbs, all doll-like and distinctly not human. Not Mr. Potter. Not alive. No, of course not, because he was dead.

“Dad? Please don’t be…” James couldn’t finish his sentence. Sirius doubted he even knew he was crying, but the tears were getting on his father’s suit. James sniffled and leaned his father back in the chair. He put his hands on the armrests. “There, that’s better.”

Sirius left the door and put his arms around James. “I’m sorry,” he said into James’s ear. He was shaking. James didn’t resist, he couldn’t have, but folded into Sirius with those stiff, shaking arms frozen in front of him. “I loved him, too.” At that James just began to cry harder.

Remus was standing by the door without a word to say. When Sirius looked back at him he found his vision was foggy. The sound he made was something like the cross between a bark and a cry. His hands tightened into James’s shirt, and he felt James’s hands tightening against his. He wished it was their pain in his hands and not James’s shirt. He could crush pain, but James’s shirt could only serve as metaphor.

James drew himself out of Sirius’s shirt. He had been using it as a landing pad for his tears. “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told him… if we hadn’t left…”

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said, his voice throaty, “Don’t ever think that. You don’t know why he was here-”

“I do. He was here for me,” James began with a rasp, but his voice escalated with every word, “He never comes to the Ministry on Tuesdays, but today he did, for me. It’s all my fault.”

He broke from Sirius then. Sirius tried to reach him, but he pushed him away and slumped on the floor. His knee was bent, his arms wrapped around it like it was his only protection. “Oh, God,” he moaned.

Sirius glanced at Remus. They had to go. Now. Remus replied with the tiniest hint of a nod.

“James,” Sirius croaked, already regretting what he was making his best friend do, “we need to go.”

“What do you mean go? How can you ask me to go?”

“I don’t want to,” Sirius said as smoothly and as calmly as he could, “but we’re in danger. You know we are.” He didn’t want to say that they were the only ones in the whole building still breathing, but it was a fact they couldn’t afford to ignore.

“But he’s my father, I can’t leave him!” James thrust his head into his hands, letting his fingers comb through his messy locks. His fingers then went to his face, where they made an attempt to wipe away the tears.

“We’re not leaving him. We’ll come back to get his-” Sirius couldn’t say body, not yet, “we’ll come back to get him later, but for now we have to protect ourselves. This place isn’t safe.”

“No,” said James, stubbornly shaking his head, “I’m not leaving without my father.”

Sirius startled when Remus crouched down beside James. He hadn’t seen him move from the door. “We’ll take your father, James, we just need to leave.” Sirius glared. How were they supposed to do that? Remus looked at him pointedly, “Sirius, can you do a stretcher spell?” he asked. “We can put Mr. Potter’s body on the stretcher, and get it to follow us out.” Understanding, Sirius nodded. What Remus was suggesting was nowhere near as impossible as trying to convince James to let his father sit among the other corpses in the Ministry.

James nodded weakly, sniffling. “Thank you, Remus,” he said.

Sirius set up the spell relatively quickly, and Mr. Potter was soon lying on the stretcher. Sirius almost broke down again when he finished laying him down. If it was possible, he looked even deader now. They walked out of the room with Mr. Potter trailing behind them and Remus bringing up the rear.

Sirius wished there was something he could say to make it all better, but the reality was that there was nothing he could say. No words could fix James now. He wished he could take it all back, wished they could go back in time and stop Mr. Potter. He was too good a man to die like this, just one in a heap of many. Sirius had always thought he would die lying next to Mrs. Potter in his sleep; peacefully. Not like this. Never like this.

“What’s that?” Remus said suddenly from behind them, “Do you hear it?”

“No, what is it?” asked Sirius.

“Footsteps. They’re close. Can you make the stretcher follow us faster?” he asked.

“It’ll keep to our pace,” he said, hesitantly. He disliked Remus’s instincts. They were too often right. They had been right when they had told him that James had sleepwalked away from their room, and they had been right when they had told them where to go. He wished he could scoff, but experience told him Remus wasn’t likely to be wrong.

“Good, then we need to run,” he said.

“What?” asked Sirius.

“Go!” Remus cried, running forward. James wasn’t moving so Sirius grabbed him by the arm and shook him, trying to make his limp legs go. When he glared but did not lift his feet Remus ran back, took his arm and pulled it with him. “James,” he said, “I know how you’re feeling right now, trust me I do, but now is not the time to grieve. Please,” he begged. Sirius wanted to strangle and kiss Remus at the same time for making James look like he was about to cry again, but he listened to Remus’s plea and picked up his pace.

But it was too late. From the labyrinth of the Ministry of Magic’s offices and rooms, Sirius, Remus and James saw their first signs of life. Sirius recognized them instantly. Collin opened a heavy wooden door and stepped cautiously outside, his nose raised in an evident sniff. Clearly, last night’s knockout hadn’t prevented him from doing whatever he was doing here. Seeing them, he shouted into the room, probably calling for backups, but Sirius couldn’t see, couldn't hear clearly. They were running.

Remus was at their front, leading them through the winding, twisting halls of the Ministry. They ran as well as they could to keep his pace, scrambling around the corpses, terrified of accidentally stepping on a face.

Then he turned a corner too far ahead for them to see him. “Remus, wait!” Sirius yelled. When they followed him down the corridor, he was there, standing in wait. His hands were clenched into fists, his whole body tense with anticipatory action.

“You’ve got to go faster,” Remus said with a tug on Sirius’s arm. The tug went nowhere. Someone had grabbed Sirius’s other arm. It was Adam. This time Sirius knew what to do. He scrabbled for his wand, hidden in his pant pocket, swerving to face his attacker.

 _“Stupify!”_ he shouted, hoping the force in his voice would fire the spell harder. Adam froze in place, mid lunge. Sirius forced his wrist from Adam just as Remus leapt and tackled Collin. James, beside them, hesitated for a moment, unable to spot an opening for a spell that wouldn’t hit Remus instead. Sirius backed away and stumbled on an arm splayed into the middle of the hallway. His confused legs refused to plant, there were too many cold faces and arms and too little empty space. He eventually found somewhere to stand and stood like a landed surfer on the marbled tiles. When he looked up Collin was stuck to the panelling, his whole body spun so that his head pointed to the floor. His long arms reached fruitlessly for the ground, swiping without success.

Remus took a step forward and slammed his fist into the man. Collin shuddered with his punch, and his hands scrabbled to reach for Remus, but Remus grabbed Collin’s now-useless hands in his own and pulled. While he did he pressed his sneakered foot onto Collin’s neck. Beneath him, Collin struggled, air leaving his mouth in strangled wheezes, and Remus just pressed harder.

“Fuck, Remus,” said Sirius, forgetting the faces at his feet.

“You are going to tell us what the fuck happened here,” Remus said to the man in his grip, his muscles bulging at the strain of holding Collin in place. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to tell us exactly what you’re doing here and how all of these people got killed, and then, if you’re good, we’ll let you both go.”

James’s heavy breath punctuated air filled with the sounds of Collin’s strangled screams. Remus lifted his foot but didn’t release Collin’s arms. Collin immediately went to bite at Remus’s ankles, and Remus shoved him back with his arms. “I told you to talk, dickface,” he said.

“You fucking two-faced bastard!” Collin spat.

“I think I’m being pretty clear about my faces,” Remus said.

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” said James, stepping warily forward.

Collin ignored James, speaking again to Remus, his pug-shaped face red and splotchy with anger, saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth. “Kent knows you were in the tunnels!”

After a beat, Remus replied, “So?” but the skin at his face had paled.

“So he’s put his little bitch onto you! There’s no running from us you—“ James didn’t get to hear which expletive Collin was about to use for Remus, because Remus forced his shod foot between Collin’s yellowed teeth, muffling his yells.

“You’re not telling us what I told you to!” Remus said with a thrust. “We want to know what happened here! Who did this?”

When Remus removed his foot Collin’s lips were cracked and his mouth was dirtied with Remus’s shoe print. Collin spat. “You fucking know, Lupin. You fucking know and you were supposed to be here.”

“Here for what? What is this?” asked James.

Sirius knew what Collin was going to say before he said the words out loud. “This is the Capere; the start of the Dark Lord’s eternal reign.” The words sounded recited, like something someone had taught him to say. He turned now to Remus, “They’re coming for you, Lupin.”

Remus’s face was ashen. Collin, seeing him, cackled, and showed the yellows of his teeth. Then, Collin and Remus both stiffened suddenly, their attention simultaneously orientated toward some far away sound that no one else could hear.

“Remus, what is it?” asked Sirius.

“Someone’s coming,” Remus whispered.

“TRAITORS! INTRUDERS! THESE BASTARDS HAVE GOT ME UPSIDE DOWN-“ Collin screamed, his voice hoarse from its inversion.

“ _Silencio_ ,” said Sirius, and Collin’s mouth was suddenly moving in random patterns but not emitting the slightest sound.

James was shaking. He almost pushed Sirius aside when he plowed through him to get at Remus. He shoved him. At any other time Remus may not have budged, but James had surprised him. “You!” was all he yelled as he shoved him again. Remus stumbled back, his feet slipping as he tried to find purchase between Mr. Potter on the floating stretcher and the corpses on the floor.

“James!” Sirius cried.

“You knew about this, all of this! It’s your fault! All yours!” James yelled at full volume. Sirius glanced around, terrified that Death Eaters would come, and even more terrified that James didn’t care.

“James,” he cried again, more exasperated this time, “what are you doing?” He stepped over bodies to get between them, though he knew Remus wouldn’t fight James back, not now. He looked like a lost, scared puppy, so different from how he had looked when facing Collin. “Stop it!”

“You killed him!” James continued, ignoring the hands Sirius used to create space between him and Remus. “It’s all your fault! If you hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t be dead. I never would have told my father to come here, we wouldn’t have come - why didn’t you say anything? You should have just told us if you knew - how could you not tell us when you already knew?”

Remus had planted himself two feet from the wall on the other side of a woman in a professional black robe. She had wrinkled skin and grey hair pinned up in a bun. He had put his back flat against the wall, and James was leaning forward so far that he was almost breathing into Remus’s nose. “I didn’t know this would happen, I swear!” he mumbled, turning his head away from James. There were tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry-”

“Not good enough!” James said, and shoved Remus so that his knees buckled from under him. He landed on the woman. Her body made a sickening noise that was a cross between a crunch and a squish.

Remus heaved, panicked, and scrambled to get off of the woman. James shoved him back down and kicked him for good measure. Remus covered his face with his arms, but otherwise did nothing to defend himself.

“James!” Sirius cried, “Stop it! We need to get out of here!” He grabbed James by his shirt, forcing the other boy away. James was pulling against his grip, but Sirius wouldn’t let him kick Remus anymore. When James realized that Sirius wasn’t going to let him hit Remus the way he wanted he shoved Sirius’s arms off of him, turned to Remus, hacked, and spat on the other boy. The spittle landed on Remus’s cheek and drifted down his face so slowly it looked like a tear. James grimaced, an ugly expression, even on him, turned, and stalked off. Sirius wasn’t sure he was even going in the right direction. Behind him trailed Mr. Potter’s stretcher, his corpse as tragically comic as the man had never been in life.

Remus was still sitting on the woman’s side. He was breathing fast and panicked. His face was blasted open with terror. Sirius wasn’t sure who was to blame. If it was James like James said, or Remus like James had also said, or if it was himself. He wasn’t sure if any of them were to blame, and he didn’t think it was for them to decide, anyway.

Just a few meters away, Collin was thrashing upside down, reaching, stretching, pulling for someone to hear him screaming out for help. His veins bulged from neck in thick chords, every point of him a picture of a scream.

Sirius brought his hands down to Remus’s and pulled, “Come on Remus, we need to go.” Sirius dragged Remus up and looked away, unable to hold Remus’s gaze. “We had better find James before he kills himself,” he said.

Sirius lead the way. Just a couple of paces in, Remus put a hand on his back. “I know where he is,” he said, and began to sprint ahead of him.

Remus wasn’t wrong. He did know where James was, and because he and Sirius went to him at a run and James was only walking, it didn’t take them too long to catch up. James was nowhere they had already been. “James, I know the way out,” Remus said when they finally stopped. James refused to look at him. Sirius wanted to kill James for his stupidity, and if his best friend hadn’t just discovered his father dead, he may have. Instead he decided to be gentle, and approached James as though he were approaching a rabbit, quietly and slowly, careful not to move too much in case he scared him off. As far as he knew James wasn’t angry with him, so he touched his arm. When James flinched only a little he let his fingers enclose over his bicep.

“James,” he whispered, and somehow that was enough. Remus led them out. They all seemed to innately understand the need for silence, for none of them spoke a word.

“Do you think we could bury him?” James whimpered as they walked.

“Where?” Sirius asked.

James replied, his voice like shuffling footsteps on wood floors, “In the family crypt. We just have to get him down there.”

Sirius looked at Remus, who kept mute and useless, “Do you want to bury him now? Are you sure you don’t need, I don’t know, a day to let it all sink in?” James was staring at the red telephone booth, the only thing blocking their exit, his eyes unfixed and unfocused. He was nodding with that same absent look about his eyes.

“We’ll bury him tomorrow,” he said.

“Okay,” Sirius said, hesitant. “Should we leave him here in the meantime or-”

“No,” James replied brusquely.

“Oh. Okay. Then…”

“We take him with us,” James said. Like always, Sirius’s best friend spoke with a ring of authority, and today that ring was accompanied by the madness of grief. He couldn’t say no, not unless he ripped out his heart and the love he had for this boy that dwelled within it and fed it to the dark creatures that fed on human pain. Remus’s eyes had widened in response, and Sirius couldn’t say that Remus’s eyes didn’t mirror his own.

“With… us?” he repeated.

“We put him under the invisibility cloak and then when we get to our motel-”

“Motel?” Sirius interrupted.

“Then we’ll set him on one of the beds until tomorrow, and then we’ll bring him home. Both of us. Sirius, you’re not going with them. I’m not letting them take you.”

“We’re not going. James, it’ll be fine. But you can’t bring a dead body around with you, you can’t put it in our room! He’ll smell!” Sirius said, desperately trying to comfort his friend. He wasn’t sure if it was working. It couldn’t have been working because James shuddered, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Sirius, he’s not it. He’s my father. I can’t leave him. It’s not the right thing to do. He wanted me to… to do the right thing,” he sniffed, and Sirius hoped desperately that he wasn’t crying again, because he didn’t know what he would do if James was crying again and it was all his fault.

“What about your mother, James? She deserves to know…” At that, James hunched over, his face a vehicle of grief, and Sirius rushed to hold him.

“Please,” James begged, “I can’t go back there right now. I can’t let her see him like this.” He was loose in Sirius’s arms, raggedy and red, his hands clutching at his eyes to make them stop seeing. Sirius could only hold him.

“It’s what he wants,” said Remus softly. Sirius knew he was trying to be comforting, but the moment James heard his voice he turned and made the most terrifying face.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he said, shifting instantly between monster and friend. Remus winced and sunk his head, reminding Sirius of a remorseful dog. Looking at Remus, but not brave enough to defy James in his grief Sirius agreed with him silently. They would do whatever it took to make this even a little bit more right.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go straight home?” Sirius asked. James shook his head, and not for the first time Sirius considered how much easier his life would be if he could just say no to James. To anyone else no was the easiest word, but with James no molten rod could force the words from his lips.

So that was how they ended up breathing in the cold smells of death while cramming with a corpse in a telephone booth on that August Tuesday morning.

 


	9. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life continues after the Ministry, but everything has changed.

**CHAPTER 9**

 

Sirius was glad he couldn’t see Mr. Potter under the Invisibility Cloak. He felt queasy thinking about that cold waxy skin where life used to be. He backed up in his chair, shifting his ice cream cone so that the cloak didn’t dip into the frozen treat. Sirius looked up. All he could see was empty space, but he knew Mr. Potter was there.

Florean of Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor came to greet them where they sat on his patio. He was grinning wide as he cleaned up James’s ice cream cone. James had lost his appetite only a few licks in and had placed his cone on its side, leaving it to melt onto a napkin.

“Hello, boys! How are you enjoying your summer vacation?” he asked, infuriatingly cheerful. James’s eyes flickered up so that they rested on Florean. His eyes’ intensity made the other man wince imperceptibly. “Not in the mood for chatting then, eh boys? That’s alright, that’s alright. Everyone has their days. Girl trouble?” James kept glaring.

“His father just died,” Remus said gruffly.

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Florean said, clearly becoming more uncomfortable as James’s eyes didn’t move.

“Could we just get the bill?” Sirius asked.

“Oh! Right. Of course,” Florean said, and turned around abruptly and went back inside.

“So what’s our next move?” Sirius whispered under his breath. James’s eyes were following Florean inside and Sirius was reminded of a tracking device. “We’ve got to tell someone what we saw.”

“But who do we tell?” asked Remus. “We can’t tell just anyone. People will panic. Our entire government was massacred. The only people who survived are either Death Eaters or on leave today. Why do you think they’d do that?”

“No clue,” said Sirius.

“Maybe they wanted a clean slate,” said Remus. “To start over with a government they can control.”

“Well, that’s a pleasant thought,” Sirius replied.

“They should all be dead,” James muttered darkly.

Florean came back out again with their bill and James paid by tossing a handful of silver coins onto the table. With his money on the counter he got up and starting walking away, leaving Sirius to chase after him. Sirius could hear Remus apologizing to Florean behind him as he jogged. He wasn’t careful enough, however, because he hit something flat and solid, landing him flat on his back. He rubbed his forehead. “What the-” he began.

Behind James was an empty trail. No one else had fallen flat on their back like Sirius, but he wasn’t the only one rubbing his face. He had been hit in the head by Mr. Potter’s shoe. “Oh, bugger,” he muttered. He got up and ran after James again, a shielding arm up in front of his face, this time avoiding the space behind his friend. “Oi,” he panted once he caught up with James’s quick stride. James raised an eyebrow. “Never mind,” said Sirius.

“Ice cream was a stupid idea,” James said. Sirius frowned. It had been his stupid idea.

Someone, presumably someone who had been hit by some part of Mr. Potter, yelled out, “Elephant bugger!” loudly behind them.

Sirius pointed behind him with his thumb. “At least the ice cream isn’t hitting anybody in the face.”

“They could all be hit in the face for all I care,” James grumbled darkly.

“As I expect they will,” said Sirius. As if on cue he heard a woman make a noise of surprise. Remus still hadn’t caught up when he asked, “Mate, are we actually going somewhere or are we just walking?”

“Walking,” James replied quickly.

“Ah. Right. Well, do you think we could go somewhere? This whole thing is a bit dodgy. What if something happens to your father while we’re galavanting?”

“I don’t want to be inside right now,” said James cooly. Sirius stared at his friend. His hands were buried deep in his pockets and he swaggered in a way that, in a different situation, Sirius might have considered sexy. He looked dangerous.

“Mate,” Sirius began again, more cautiously this time. He was interrupted by a scream, and then there was more than one. People were pointing to the sky with shaking fingers. Sirius looked up. The Dark Mark, a skull swallowing a snake, had lit up the afternoon sky in green. It hung high enough in the sky that they could see it from Diagon Alley.

There was a man, red-faced and loud, who was gesticulating at the sky. “What is the meaning of this?” he was shouting to anyone nearby. “How dare they, in broad daylight!”

Diagon Alley, calm just moments before, had descended into running and screaming.

“Calm down, people, calm down! It’s a scare tactic, just a scare tactic!” one shop owner shouted amidst women picking up their children to take them home and a general thunder of voices, all raised in a cacophony of fear. Sirius grabbed onto James. His best friend was still ash white. He was frozen in place, staring blankly ahead of him with wide-eyed horror. Sirius held on to him as the people jostled around them, his life raft in the storm. But people were bumping against the empty space that was really Mr. Potter.

“James, we’ve got to get out of here,” Sirius said, tugging on his friend’s arm.

“This is really happening, isn’t it?” asked James. Sirius looked at his friend. He wished he could have said anything else.

“James, we’ve got to get out of this main street.” He took the arm he held and dragged it, fighting past the frightened, bumping into people to find refuge. Arms linked, Sirius and James scaled the sides of the shops, looking for the nearest alleyway to hide in until the crowds died down. Sirius led the way. James was in no position to think of anything right now. Sirius couldn’t see Remus anywhere; he had disappeared with the panicked crowd. The stone was rough against Sirius’s fingertips. It caught against his shirt as he tried to slide past. The first alleyway wasn’t far. As soon as they reached it Sirius shoved James in, feeling for the cloth covering Mr. Potter. When he found it, he winced. Mr. Potter was so cold. Bile rose in his throat. Sirius swallowed it and forced the floating corpse into the alley’s entryway. A rush of bodies pushed past them. James leaned up against a wall, breathing heavily. His fingers shook like paper in wind. Sirius gulped. As much as it seemed like there were two of them he was really alone right now. He stepped out of the alleyway to look out onto the street for Remus.

Diagon Alley was emptying fast. People everywhere were apparating, and those that couldn't apparate were trying to force their way into shops to use port keys and floo powder to get wherever they needed to go amidst shopkeepers yelling in an attempt to keep order. He caught sight of Remus far from where they had hidden, darting uncertainly between shops, poking his head inside windows to see if they were there. “Remus!” he called, uncertain if he would hear him from this distance.

“What are you doing?” asked James from where he had sunk to the floor.

“I see Remus,” Sirius said, and called for him again.

“Just leave him,” said James. Sirius ignored him. In the distance he saw Remus stop and turn at the sound of his voice. When he realized who was calling him he straightened, visibly relieved, and immediately went into a jog in their direction.

“He’s coming,” said Sirius. James, still crouching with his head between his knees, sagged further. At the sound of footsteps on cobblestones he breathed in to gather himself.

“There you are. I was looking everywhere but I couldn’t find you. I was worried something had happened,” Remus blithered, his cheeks pink from running.

“Remus,” said James, not getting up from his position on the ground, “Why did they say you were supposed to be in the Ministry? You’re a squib.” James sounded so tired. He was tired. Sirius could see it in the purple bags under his eyes, the shocked pale colour of his skin. “We came here thinking he was out to hurt you and your family, we came here to help you, but it turns out that not only did you know about what was going to happen today, but you lied about knowing.” James looked up. “You put us all in danger today, and you don’t seem even a little bit ashamed.”

He seemed to be waiting for a particular kind of answer from Remus. Sirius wasn’t sure what kind of answer that was, but he knew what he wanted to hear. “Well, you didn’t know about it, did you Remus?” he asked. Remus was standing there across from him, right at the shaded entryway to the alleyway. His hands shook as he folded his arms over his chest, his eyes darting between Sirius and James.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit,” James said. “Those guys from yesterday, they knew who you were, and it didn’t seem like a surprise to you at all.”

“Maybe I just respond well to surprises,” said Remus tersely, his body tense but still.

James raised his hands onto his knees to push himself up from the alley’s square cobblestones. When he stood his fists were balled so tightly that the veins stood out from his skin. When he stopped walking he was barely a foot away from Remus. In response Remus leaned back just enough that Sirius could tell he was intimidated.

James was not much to be intimidated by. He was average height, scrawny, with messy hair and eyes that were useless without the glasses on his nose. But James was mad. He was always the one at the centre of a crowd, and whatever it was about him that made people notice him made James terrifying when he was angry. But that, Sirius realized, wasn’t the whole of it. Remus didn’t have a wand.

James lifted his wand and pressed the tip into Remus’s cheek. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled. Sirius could see Remus’s jaw tense, could see his eyes flick up to meet James. Remus was matching James’s intensity despite his fear and all of a sudden Sirius was scared to know the truth behind what James was trying to find out. Worse, he suddenly wasn’t sure who he would defend if they fought.

“James-” he said, hoping to stop this before it began.

“How do they know who you are?” James hissed through his teeth.

“I don’t know,” said Remus, with just as much hiss.

“Stop it. Stop lying.”

“I’m not!” Remus yelled.

“Remus-” Sirius tried again, but despite being right next to them both neither boy seemed to see him.

James grabbed Remus’s shirt, pulled his face so it was uncomfortably close to his, his wand still poking messily against his cheek. “There is something off about you and I’ve tried to give you a chance. In fact I’ve given you several. I’m done with giving you chances. Talk.”

Remus eyes flickered about the alley, looking anywhere but at James’s face. They lingered for a moment on Sirius. With Remus’s eyes on him Sirius lurched forward, taking a step, but then Remus’s eyes flicked away. James shook him with the hand that held his shirt. “Talk!” he yelled.

Without warning Remus swung his elbow over James’s arm, hitting him across the jaw. James’s head smacked to the side and his arms fell slack. James’s wand dropped to the floor. The other boy swung at him wildly, his glasses askew. Sirius grabbed at Remus, but Remus struggled against him, shoving him off. His hands were on James’s shoulders, and he pulled them down so that James’s soft torso collided with his knee. James made a small sound, like an “Oof.” He heaved, and Remus pushed him away, scrabbling for something on the cobblestones.

A moment later, just one short, quick moment, and he had grabbed what he was looking for. Remus held James’s wand out in front of him awkwardly, like someone would hold a pencil if they had never before learned how to use it.

“Remus what are you doing?” Sirius cried, and ran to James. James was breathing heavily, one hand on his solar plexus, the other holding onto his knee to hold himself up. “You know you can’t use that, put it down! Give it back to James.”

Remus backed away, sweating, the wand pointed slowly, shakily, at Sirius. At Sirius’s side James was straightening. He went to Remus at a run, ready to remedy the other boy’s surprise attack. Remus waved the wand wildly. _“Wingardium Leviosa!_ ” he said, desperate. “ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

And then, instead of the nothing Sirius was expecting to see, James suddenly lifted into the air. As he rose he lurched unevenly from side to side, but he rose all the same. Sirius hadn’t done it. James hadn’t done it. Remus had done it with James’s wand and with the magic he supposedly didn’t have.

“Sirius! Get it! My wand!” James was yelling.

Carefully, as though he were approaching a dangerous wild animal, Sirius stepped toward Remus. He found the vision hard to see. Remus was leaning his whole body into pointing that wand, his head crooked to the side, his eyes focused so intently on him but not how they had ever focused on him before. His eyes were threatening, but they were simultaneously terrified. His face shone with sweat. He wasn’t sweaty from the burst of movement or the force, Sirius was sure, but from the terror. Sirius only wished he could understand why he was so afraid.

“Remus,” he said softly. Remus shook his head and stepped back towards the street. Sirius took a step forward and Remus took a step back. “Why are you doing this?”

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry,” he said, turning to leave the alleyway.

“No,” said Sirius before he had taken five steps, “I’m sorry. _Locomotor Mortis_.” Remus’s legs snapped together and Remus lost his balance. He toppled to the ground against the alley walls. Sirius felt like he was watching him in slow motion. He bounced when his body hit the alley wall. For that instant he was a rubber piece of string and not an almost-man. James’s wand clattered to the floor and Sirius actually felt sad when he bent down to pick it up. With the release of the spell James fell with a thud.

Remus clenched his eyes shut. His lips were moving, but Sirius couldn’t hear his words. “Remus, calm down. What were you thinking, hitting James like that?”

His eyes opened, but they were tentative, and Remus’s breaths were ragged. “This is what he meant.”

“What who meant?” Sirius asked. James limped to his side and snatched his wand back.

“I think he had the right idea there, actually,” James said sharply, “He should go.”

“What? James, no. Let him talk.”

“He just proved that he’s a liar. He’s not even a squib-”

Sirius cut him off, “I know! I’ve been here this whole time, James. Please. Back off for a second. Let him say what he’s trying to say.”

Remus struggled up onto his elbows, then whet his lips with his tongue. “This is why they say the world makes life difficult for people like me.”

James seemed ready to strangle him. “People like you? This is ridiculous. For God’s sake, Lupin, give us a straight bloody answer! What the hell does that mean?”

Remus looked up and almost met Sirius with his eyes, but then thought better of it, looking away, back down and then back up again. When Remus finally looked him in the eye, Remus looked at him as though James wasn’t even there. He was shaking. For one moment, one terrifying moment, Sirius thought that the word Remus was going to say was ‘homosexuals,’ but it wasn’t, and the word he did say was so much worse.

“Werewolves.”


	10. Homeward Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys work to learn some facts, and then begin their homeward journey.

**CHAPTER 10**

 

Sirius wasn’t sure if he wanted to vomit or just punch something. He wasn’t a stranger to the stories. They said werewolves lived in the Forbidden Forest in Hogwarts, that they hunted human flesh and that every full moon they could not control their bloodlust. He had heard stories from before the Werewolf Registry of whole families that had been bitten and then forced to live and kill in werewolf packs.

And he had touched one. A monster with bloody fangs, probably with a few deaths on his hands. No, he had more than touched one, he had-

He backed away from where Remus lay on the floor. James was keeping his fair distance, too, but he loomed over Remus, the shadows of the alleyway shading his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said, but it came out as uncertain. Remus glared.

“I’m lying when I’m lying, I’m lying when I’m telling the truth. Make up your mind, James,” said Remus and Sirius found himself believing him. Although Remus was fully clothed he looked more naked than Sirius had ever seen him before.

“James, are you still wearing that necklace?” Sirius asked abruptly. James turned his impeccable jaw to face him, but right now Sirius didn’t feel like looking.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, there’s one easy way to tell if someone’s a werewolf, if you remember-”

James cut him off, “You see if silver burns their skin.”

Remus winced. James reached behind his neck and unfastened the clasp. He handed the necklace to Sirius, who let the tiny links in the chain fall into his palm one by one. With his other hand he knelt by Remus’s side and reached for his arm. Remus’s eyes were squeezed shut in anticipation of the pain, but Sirius had to know. He raised his arm and pressed the necklace into his Remus’s skin.

Nothing happened at first. Remus winced, jerking involuntarily away from Sirius’s hand. Then he began to tug himself away. Sirius thought he could see tears twisted in his eyelashes, he could hear a sizzling sound-

Sirius pulled his hand away fast, his heart beating in his chest. Where he’d pressed the necklace was a heart-shaped burn mark. The necklace dropped from his shaking fingers. James was saying something behind him; he had snatched the necklace back and had fastened it once more around his neck, but Sirius couldn’t hear a word.

Remus was panting, sweat damp on his brow, propped on his elbows as he quivered with molten pain. Pain that Sirius had given him because Remus had told the truth. He wondered if he should forgive Remus’s truth, but then the great big beast on the floor reared its ugly head and ate and killed that idea. He wondered if Remus was one of the ones who had offered himself up to a werewolf to gain their superior speed, strength, smell, and hearing.

Remus was sitting and panting on the floor, but Sirius could see nothing but a monster.

“This is why!” James was saying, his voice a low growl, “This is why these things are happening. How they knew him. Remus even said they were werewolves. You-Know-Who wants magical creatures. I should have known. Sirius, I should have known! The kettle burnt him. The silver kettle burnt him, and now my father is dead!”

“Please, James, I didn’t know it would happen this way. I never-”

James held out his wand and Remus flinched.

“You killed my father, and I’m going to kill you,” he said.

“I never wanted your father to die. He was a good man-” Remus tried to speak over James, but James would not listen.

“You deserve pain. You deserve your limbs to be torn from your body. You deserve to want what you can never have, and never get what you want. You deserve torture and ridicule, and-”

Remus barked out a bitter laugh at James’s judgment. “Don’t you understand, James? I’m already in pain. My limbs are torn and my body reconfigured every month. Nothing I will ever want, no _one_ I will ever want will ever be mine. I am already tortured and ridiculed by the world and by the Ministry.” His face, twisted into dark mirth, fell into a look of anguish. “James, I know you hate me, but please don’t tell your mother. My family has been through enough. Please don’t force them out because of me. They don’t deserve it.”

James folded his arms over his chest, towering over them both. His lips were pulled back in disgust. “On one condition,” he said, his words coming out slowly as if he were hand-placing them on his tongue. “You leave now and you never come back. You don’t come to my house, or contact anyone in it including your family so long as they are there. Don’t talk to me, don’t talk to Sirius, and don’t… Don’t you dare attend my father’s funeral. If I hear of you hurting anyone I love, you answer to me. And you may be able to hold a wand, Lupin, you may be able to chant the spells, but you’re shit with magic and I can tell. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Remus sucked in the air sharply, his face draining of colour. “You can’t be serious, James…”

“I am serious, Lupin,” James replied.

At first, Remus didn’t say a word. His silence lingered heavily on the air. Sirius could feel his own face losing blood, could feel his own fingers becoming numb. He realized Remus was looking at him.

“Sirius?” he asked, his voice throaty and intimate. Sirius winced. He didn’t want to hear Remus’s voice like that, not now, now that he knew that that same voice learned to howl at each moon like clockwork.

“I think…” he began, but his voice choked in his throat. His head was stuffed with Remus eating berries and blushing at his hand, Remus laughing, Remus in St. Mawes. He forced Remus from his head, just like he had forced James so many times. “I think,” he began again, “that James is right. You need to leave.”

Except for the stale tears left over from the burn on his arm, Remus did not cry. His lower lip quivered, his jaw clacked with spooked shivering, but bravely he did not shed tears. “Can you at least undo the spell?” he asked. “I can’t leave until you do.”

“Do you agree, then?” asked James.

Remus paused, breathed, then nodded. “I agree.”

James ground his jaw as though he was unsure of whether it was safe to unbind the vicious beast they had found in the house across the street. He paused, “And you won’t attack either of us on your way out, or ever?”

“If you don’t attack me,” Remus promised patiently.

James said the spell and Remus’s legs visibly relaxed. He looked up at James and then down at Sirius awkwardly. He heaved himself up onto his feet, which were unsteady at first, and stumbled onto the street. It wasn’t too far.

He looked at Sirius over his shoulder. Dryly, his voice worn and shaking with the terror that had come and gone, he added, “And Sirius? I hope you enjoy your life with James. I bet it’ll be a long one. Good luck with that.”

He turned the corner. After a pause they began to hear the clack of his footsteps as he walked away. It was only then that James asked, “Si, what did he mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius replied, but he did know. He had meant what Sirius had always known; that James would never love him back. It was a warning more than anything else. Sirius just wished it wasn’t true.

James stood staring at the street in silence. James, who just a moment before had seemed to fill the alleyway with his presence, deflated. “Was that the right thing to do?” he asked.

Sirius could not bring himself to answer James’s question. He didn’t know. James sank against the wall, his gaze shifting to where his father hung in midair. He frowned, seeming to wonder if the waxen skin and lifeless bones would rise and praise him or bemoan its disappointment. Sirius followed and leaned next to his best friend against the chalky brick.

“Would he… be happy…” James couldn’t finish his sentence, but Sirius understood. He gave James a hug, not because he knew he was right, not because he thought he should, not because he was all he had left and not even because he felt sorry for him. No, Sirius hugged him because he loved James and he always would. He just wished he wasn’t realizing that James wasn’t the one he was in love with.

By now, the street was almost empty save for Remus. He walked with heavy footsteps to the Leaky Cauldron. What he would do when he got there, Sirius couldn’t imagine. In his arms, James began to shake with silent sobs for the father he couldn’t believe he’d lost. He moved his hand in comforting circles on his best friend’s back. “James,” he said, “We have to go home.”

“I can’t-“ James began, but Sirius interrupted him.

“I’m going to take you home.”

Sirius led James with his hand on his back out of the alley. This time Mr. Potter’s body didn’t bump passers-by. The few people remaining on the streets shuffled with shifty gazes. Faces were hidden by the hoods that wizards usually left to hang on the back of their cloaks.

“I have to fight them,” James insisted as they walked, but they both knew he couldn’t mean now.

“You will,” said Sirius. So many of the businesses they passed were abandoned for the day. A baker had left their goods on the windowsill to grow stale. Sirius could still smell the pie’s rich chicken filling.

“He wasn’t supposed to go like this, Sirius,” James whispered.

Sirius had nothing good to say. “I know.”

One door was left partway open. An open sign hung in the window, crooked and old. The letters were painted on in enthusiastic red script, chips fading away with age. “Come on,” said Sirius. He rested his hand on the doorknob and pushed the door inwards. A small chime greeted their entry.

The store was a melange of curios piled haphazardly atop each other. It took Sirius a moment to realize that it was actually a pet store. Among the junk was amusement parks for fish and anti-barking collars for dogs. One box promised to help you transport your pet safely in a bag the size of wallet. “Hello?” he called tentatively. James let out a long breath, attempting to gather himself sufficiently to interact with another human being. An assortment of bangs and clangs shuddered from behind the piles, revealing a small, stout woman with white, curly hair.

“Oh my. Another one,” she said, clasping her hands together. “Two!” she said, spotting James. “Come, come. You’ll want to use my floo, I presume?”

“Please,” said Sirius. He glanced at James, wondering how long he would be talking for two.

“Well, then, this way!” she said, waving them over. Sirius was about to push James forward, but his best friend stepped forward himself. It was a good start, Sirius noted with relief. They followed the woman as she manoeuvred through a maze of consumer goods that Sirius couldn’t imagine anyone ever buying. The fireplace was already lit, extra floo powder scattered in white over the tiles.

“Lots of people today, I guess,” said Sirius.

“People panicked about that Dark Mark from earlier,” the shopkeeper explained. “You too, I suppose. But it’s not the right thing to do, not the right thing at all, if you ask me.”

To Sirius’s surprise, it was James who spoke next. “Why’s that?”

The shopkeeper lit up, her pale cheeks growing rosy. “All this running. What will it do? This You-Know-Who fellow must think he’s got us all quaking in our boots, but he doesn’t realize that he’s just given us the greatest blessing he ever could.” She paused, beaming, waiting to be encouraged to go on.

Again, James took the bait. “And what’s that?”

“He’s shown us the worst now. This fellow, he took away our fathers, our sisters, our friends. Now he’s done he thinks he can use some easy scare tactics on us? No, not now. Not anymore. Before, I bet you we would have been scared fighting him. Now I bet you we’ll match him in kind and he’ll be gone within the week.” She took down a small porcelain bowl of powder, a little spoon sticking out the side.

“You don’t think people will just do whatever he says now?” asked Sirius.

“No, not at all. I think he’s given us something to fight for,” she said, the bowl perched between two hands. “Now, normally I wouldn’t ask, but there have just been so many people today and I’m getting near to the bottom of my floo, it’s so expensive, you know…” James and Sirius shared a glance.

“How much do you want for it?” Sirius asked.

“Oh, a few sickles each. That should be more than enough. Whatever you can spare,” she said. James and Sirius reached into their bags to count the coins from their wallets.

“Do you know what happened?” asked James. She shook her head.

“No one does yet. Everyone just saw the Dark Mark and panicked. But,” she leaned in conspiratorially, “That mark? I heard it was over the Ministry of Magic.” She leaned back again and took the lid from the bowl of floo powder, stirring its contents with its spoon. “No one’s heard anything from inside yet.” She raised her eyebrows at the boys and held out a hand. Dutifully, they each placed a few sickles in her palm. She shoved the sickles into her pocket, and Sirius heard the chinking of meeting coins. The spoon dipped into the pot of white powder, and she flicked the spoon’s contents into the fire. It roared a glaring green. “Step on in.”

“48 Milliphutt Lane,” James said into the fire, grabbing behind him for his father’s corpse to drag with him. The green flames enveloped him, and in an instant he was gone.

“Looks like he’s staring down a rabbit hole, that one,” the woman said, stirring her pot again, oblivious.

“I need to go,” said Sirius, and the woman shrugged, tossing another spoon of floo into the fireplace. Sirius stepped in, repeating, “48 Milliphutt Lane,” until he was spun and tossed and flown through a swirling green, only to land, coughing, on James’s living room rug.

James had beaten him by just under a minute. His living room was empty of people, though his mother’s magazine lay spread out over the couch. “What if they’re not home?” James asked. “What if-“

Sirius didn’t let him finish. “Evelyn!” he yelled at the top of his voice. When she didn’t reply he started walking into the house, checking the kitchen first before he began investigating the upper rooms. The house was silent enough that Sirius heard the croak of the stairs as a small body tiptoed down.

“They’re meeting upstairs,” Althea said, leaning over the stairs. Her small face was solemn, and grew even more so when she saw who among them was missing. “Where’s Remus?” she asked.

“Remus isn’t coming,” said James.

“What do you mean?” Althea asked, coming the rest of the way down the stairs. “Why isn’t he coming?”

After a long pause it fell to Sirius to explain. “He tried to hit James,” he said. It felt like a weak excuse when Althea stood before him, looking just like her elder brother. Her nostrils flared.

Her small hands in fists she stepped closer, “Why would he do that? What did you do to him?” Sirius had never seen her so bold. But James matched the tiny figure, looking down at her through horn-rimmed glasses.

“No, that’s not the question. The question is, what was he prepared to do to us?”

Althea stilled, her breathing heavy. Her hair was fixed into a pony tail, a brand new band looping around her light brown hair. “Remus would never do anything to hurt us,” she replied with conviction.

“Look,” James pasted his finger onto her chest, “we just went to the Ministry of Magic today. Do you know what’s there?”

“You’re scaring me,” Althea whispered.

James ignored her. “There are bodies there. Hundreds of them, all dead, all lying there. Killed, all of them, by Death Eaters. We saw some of them. You know what? They knew your brother by sight.”

“It’s not his fault,” Althea interjected.

“James,” said Sirius, gently prying his best friend from Althea. “Althea, I’m sorry about him, his—“

“He promised he would protect him,” she whimpered. Tears were collecting in her eyes, her face was becoming red and blotchy. “Last night. I didn’t wake them up, I didn’t tell, not even this morning, because James said he would protect my brother.”

“Your brother is a werewolf,” said James, “He’s a monster.”

“No!” she cried.

“He kills people.”

“Stop!” she said, the gate broken, her tears overwhelming her body. She was shaking, shaking her head. She broke from James, turning and running up the steps. Her sobs were loud as she ran. Sirius stared at his best friend in horror.

“James, she’s ten! Remus is her big brother for God’s sake. You can’t do that to her!”

James shrugged darkly, “She needed to know.”

“Mate, you’re upset, I know you’re upset. Just… we’re on your side, okay?”

“She isn’t,” said James.

“Well, now she sure isn’t,” Sirius said wryly, slapping James on the back. “And we didn’t even figure out where your mother is.”

“Let’s try upstairs,” said James. Sirius nodded.

Upstairs was less quiet. They climbed the stairs just in time to hear Althea slam the door to the guest room. One by one they opened then shut the doors in the hallway, one by one until they reached Mr. Potter’s office. That one wouldn’t open. “Do you think someone’s inside?” said Sirius.

“Let’s try knocking,” said James, his knuckles rapping on the wood panelling. Bile rose up from Sirius’s gut. What if this was exactly the same as the ministry? What if they walked in to find Mrs. Potter sprawled out on Mr. Potter’s desk? The flash of fear on James’s face told Sirius he was thinking the same thing.

But then someone called out from behind the door and Sirius nearly felt dizzy from relief. “Who is it?” Mrs. Potter asked.

“It’s me! It’s James! And Sirius!” he added as an afterthought. Almost immediately the doorknob clicked and turned to reveal Mrs. Potter. Her robes were a mess but she was carrying her wand. Her wrinkled skin was marked with the memory of tears.

“You’ve read the paper,” she said to her son.

“I was there,” he replied. Mrs. Potter closed her eyes and grasped for her son’s hand, squeezing it tightly between her fingers.

“I’m not going to ask you what you were doing there, I’m just… I’m so glad you’re alive.” Sirius stepped back a step, sensing the moment was private. Seeing him there, Mrs. Potter shook her head, “You, too Sirius. I’m so glad for you both.” Mrs. Potter’s hugs were like water in a desert. When she released them both, she gestured for them to sit down. It was only then that Sirius realized that they weren’t alone in Mr. Potter’s office. Silent as a fly on the wall, Mrs. Lupin sat in front of Mr. Potter’s desk looking familiarly dour. On the desk between the chairs was a newspaper spread out flat. It was thin, only one sheet to make what looked more like a pamphlet than a paper.

“It’s an emergency issue,” Mrs. Potter explained, sitting down in a chair across from Mr. Potter’s usual seat.

“Mum,” said James, still standing.

“They’ve got advisories here for what we should do. They say to block your floo, but you weren’t home yet so I haven’t done that. They’re shutting down all transportation, all communication. They think Death Eaters will use any means to go into homes.”

“Mum,” James repeated. Mrs. Potter looked up. Mother and son locked gazes. Sirius could see James didn’t know what to say, how to start. He cleared his throat, looking pointedly at Mrs. Lupin.

“Maybe we should step out for a bit,” he said. She pursed her lips, lifting herself from her chair.

“Maybe,” she said.

Sirius and Mrs. Lupin exited from the room with a click of the doorknob. “How long has it been since you heard?” Sirius asked.

“About thirty, forty-five minutes,” said Mrs. Lupin, heading to her room. Sirius placed a hand on her arm to stop her.

“Eh, just so you know, Althea’s a bit upset.”

“Did something happen to Remus?” she asked. “He’s not with you.”

Slowly, Sirius nodded. “We were at the Ministry and we ran into Death Eaters. At least, they must have been Death Eaters. Remus said they were werewolves. They said Remus was supposed to be with them in the attack on the ministry. Do you know anything about that?”

Instead of answering, Mrs. Lupin clasped her hands together with a frown. “Where is Remus now? Is he with them?”

“I’m not sure,” said Sirius. He wasn’t sure how to phrase what he had to say next. “We… we found out what he is.” Mrs. Lupin looked up at him, eyes finally sharp.

“Don’t you dare tell Mrs. Potter,” she hissed. “You know what I know about you, you know what I’ve been hiding for you.” Sirius flinched.

“It’s not up to me,” he said. “James knows, too.”

“I should have left that boy when I had the chance,” she said, covering her mouth with her hand. She stared at Sirius with panicked eyes. “This isn’t fair, none of this is fair. We didn’t ask for this life. That boy has been a curse since the beginning. I tried to tell you not to be with him, don’t you remember? I tried to tell his father, too, and look where that got him. By the time he was old enough to be left John was far too deep into that world.” She looked at the guest bedroom door.

“I suppose you told him to leave?” she asked. Sirius nodded. “That would make Althea upset. She loves her brother.” She touched Sirius’s arm softly, an act of camaraderie. Sirius wasn’t sure he wanted it. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, slipping away, her shoes thudding softly on the hardwood.

An hour ago Sirius had told Remus to go. His truth had been too heavy. Sirius had remembered the stories of beasts and demons and glued their faces on top of Remus’s in his mind. He didn’t regret it - wouldn’t admit he regretted it - but hearing Remus’s mother speak just like his own made him want to defend him. He stared at that shut door and wondered to himself how obligated he was to fight for a boy he’d only thought he’d known.

**~*~**

 

Lily’s thin silver chain weighed heavy in James’s palm. He wondered how she would feel to know it had burned a man’s skin, even a man who was sometimes a wolf. He glanced to his side. Sirius was still sleeping. He had been sleeping for hours on the cot by his bed. Save for his father’s absence, everything now was as it once was. Two friends together in the cool night of summer, bright stars glimmering against the black night sky, and a calendar on his wall counting down the days until Hogwarts.

Sirius was normally capably of sleeping for abnormally long periods, but today he just didn’t seem to be able to wake up. The moment night had fallen he had lain his head to rest on James’s childhood sheets. James sometimes even found himself watching his friend’s breath, nervously waiting to see if his chest would rise.

The day’s events had had the opposite effects on James. He couldn’t sleep at all, though it was still early. After he’d spoken with his mother that afternoon James had done little. What he had done he couldn’t remember. They’d both been overwhelmed. It had been Sirius’s turn today to bustle in and out, making them burnt food and running between rooms with tissues for James’s mother. Not for James, though. James couldn’t cry.

James hadn’t been able to bring himself yet to tell his mother that his father was floating in the living room. He didn’t think Sirius knew that she didn’t know. He hadn’t brought it up. After dinner they had continued to sit until they each retreated to their respective rooms. The paper had told people to stay in their houses while everything was being investigated. James didn’t know who might be investigating. The country’s aurors were dead.

When Sirius had fallen asleep right away and James had been unable to, he tried to read instead. That hadn’t worked either. Time just felt so slow.

With Sirius still sleeping. James stood up, grabbed his briefly forgotten pack and turned to scrawl something on a piece of paper for his friend. He couldn’t sit here any longer.

 

_Sirius,_

_There is something I need to do. Please don’t follow me. I’ll be back by morning._

_James_

 

With that, James opened the bedroom door and walked down the stairs. No one stopped him this time, but he found himself looking over his shoulder, eerily certain that Remus’s little sister would follow him down the stairs again to ask after the safety of her elder brother. James paused in the spot where he knew his father floated to perform the same spell that would make him follow him as he walked. James delicately fingered the invisibility cloak that his father had given him before thrusting it up to see what was underneath. His father’s eyes had sunken into their sockets and his skin was turning blue. Somehow, he hadn’t yet begun to smell, but James couldn’t let his mother see him like this. She didn’t deserve to wake up to her husband’s dead body. He only hoped that she didn’t notice he had left. With a final pull of resolve James lowered the cloak back over his father’s face and walked outside.

He stopped at the street and held out his wand. His outstretched hand made a long, dark shadow in the lamplight, but the action had the desired effect. In minutes the Knight Bus bumped and screeched over to where his feet were planted. When the doors opened James adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath in. He stepped onto the bus, naming his destination. The woman who drove it, old and haggard as she was, clutched the wheel tightly with her knobby fingers.

“Brave of you to be out alone,” she said.

“I couldn’t stay,” said James. He reached into his pocket for his money, but she interrupted him.

“Was one of them a family member?” she asked, not unkindly. James looked up. The woman’s grey hair was a mess of tangles falling onto her face and sprawling down her back. He wasn’t sure at first what she meant, but then he realized that he was. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, “One of them that were killed in the Ministry. You have that look about you.” James nodded, slowly, painfully. The bus driver nodded to him curtly and gestured behind her. James looked down to take out her change, but she shook her head. “No need. I’m not taking fare tonight. Find yourself a seat, love.”

“Thanks,” James croaked and stepped on board. To his relief his father managed the entry without trouble and he settled himself on a small bed not far behind the driver, his pack under the arm that rested against the inside of the bus.

The Knight Bus tonight was nearly empty. No one would risk public transportation tonight, he supposed, save for the desperate and the careless. A young mother and her baby were part of the former, he assumed; the forty-year-old man with his legs splayed open and his breath smelling of alcohol was part of the latter.

“No apparition license?” the mother asked sidelong. James nodded. “Me neither. I’ve taken the test twice. I can’t convince myself to have another go at it.” She smiled quickly and bounced the baby in her arms. It cried weakly, grappling with its little hands at her shirt. “I know I shouldn’t be traveling now, especially with Martha here, but what with all that’s going on I just don’t think it’s safe to be alone. The _Daily Prophet_ says that over two hundred people were killed in the Ministry today, can you believe that? Anyway, we’re going to stay with my parents in the countryside until things die down a bit. They even sent out a special report, did you see it? It says we’re to stay in our homes, but I just couldn’t. It will be safer with my parents.” She looked at him anxiously, as though hoping for his approval, then returned her attention to her baby.

It suddenly occurred to James how many of them there must be; mourners for the dead. With over two hundred dead in the Ministry — although he guessed that it was far more than just two hundred — that left several hundred families with dead family members. And then there were the friends, the acquaintances.

Should they have continued to search, to see if there really was anyone left? They hadn’t found anyone, but had they done the wrong thing by leaving? James sunk into the bed, squeezing shut his eyes. Again, sleep would not come, and instead he was left with his thoughts. Helplessness. That was what this was. All these things were happening; _big_ things. Things that were changing the world, and there was nothing he could do about it. He didn’t know where Voldemort was, he didn’t know how to stop him from killing people. However, it was clear to James now that he had to do something about it. It would not do to let others fight this fight. This fight was his now, his as much as his own hand or foot. Whatever he did now would be against Voldemort. Whether that was starvation or infiltration or fighting, James would make sure that one day Voldemort ended up as dead, no, deader than his father because no one would ever love Voldemort like James’s father was loved.

At some point the woman and her baby had gotten off, leaving James alone with the drunken man. When the bus came to a lurching stop James got up from his bed, slung his pack onto his back, and walked creakily to the front. “Thanks,” he said.

“No need to thank me,” the bus driver said, “It’s what needs to be done.” Her wrinkled hand rubbed a spot on the steering wheel, “My brother-in-law was in there.” She looked up at him expectantly.

“My father,” James replied hoarsely, realizing that from now until forever all he would have to say was the massacre in the Ministry, and everyone would know how his father had died and then be able to name someone that they had loved that had died then too.

The bus driver’s lips tightened, and they shared a look. It was a look of understanding and common experience that James would never have expected to share with a woman of her age. “I hope they get the bastards who did it,” she said.

“We will,” said James, not knowing why he spoke as he did. The woman nodded, her expression a mix of a smile and a grimace.

“For the sake of the world, boy, I hope you’re right,” she replied. Old, grey, haggard though she was, looking into her eyes with the intensity they shared felt a lot like taking a vow. James was vowing tonight to rid the world of Voldemort and somehow he knew that it was a vow he would not break. “G’night,” the old bus driver said.

“‘Night,” said James, getting off. He held the door open for his father’s body and waved the woman a brief goodbye before turning to his destination. She had dropped him off exactly where he had asked. The tall stone before him was a wall around an old crypt. The door was stamped with his family crest.

The Potter crypt was hundreds of years old. His father would have wanted to be buried here, James knew. He opened the tall iron lattice gate and slowly went inside. He didn’t need a key, although there was a place in the door for one. The keys for the crypt were spelled to outsmart spells like _Alohamora_. The Potters had come from a line of wizards long enough and wealthy enough that grave robbing was not unheard of.

Beside the door was a long, thick needle with a sharp tip. It was rusted and stained but James pricked his finger with it all the same. A small drop of blood blossomed on his fingertip. With that bloom of blood, James placed his hand on the panel beside the door, leaving a red stain to add to all of the others beneath it. For a moment nothing happened, but then there was a groan and the old stone creaked and slid aside. All James needed to enter was his blood. It was assumed, he supposed, that relatives of the deceased would not rob their ancestor’s graves.

The crypt was much larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Potters had been buried here for as long as wizards had lived in Britain, although James was sure that there were points when Potters had gone by other names. The entrance was just that; a small stone room lit by torches with fires that would never go out. The fire flickered in the cold and absolute darkness within the thick walls of stone. In the centre of the room was a series of steps that led down below. Behind him, the rock croaked shut. James reached behind himself to ensure his father’s body was still where he meant for it to be. It was. Comforted, James began his trek down the stairs.

It would be better, he thought, to leave his father here than to let his mother bury him herself. She did not need to see her husband’s decaying body, even if James already had.

The steps were slippery and indented with age and thousands of feet. James kept his hands on either wall as he took the steps down. It was not a short walk. There were several levels of pureblood dead, he knew, but each layer was far below the one above it, and James would have to go all the way down to find his father’s tomb.

It wasn’t the first time James had come into his family’s crypt. His father had taken him when he was still a boy to see his grandfather’s tomb. The man had already been already dead for a long time — James’s parents were old when he was born — but his father had thought it would be a good time to teach James about death.

“The dead may no longer be alive, James,” his father had said, “but that doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach us.” James hadn’t understood what he had meant then, but all Mr. Potter would say was, “Don’t worry about it now. You have plenty to learn. I’ll teach you one day when you’re older.”

When he was older. James was older now, though not, he supposed, old enough. Not old enough for his father to teach him what he had meant, but now he supposed he would never be. He wondered what he had lost with his father’s death. There were secrets in his family that he would never know now that his father would no longer be around to tell him. Who would he ask now for advice? There was no one else who would teach him how to be a man. Everything he had once expected to be taught James now had to learn on his own, and he didn’t think he was ready for that. He was scared to be alone, scared to have to figure it all out by himself. It had been less than a day and already he wasn’t sure of his own decisions. Was that what it was like, he wondered, to be old? That constant worry that you were doing something wrong and never knowing the answer?

The top level of the crypt was the oldest. The tombs here were labelled from as early as the eleven hundreds. The stone smelled old and musty; it smelled like death. Like old bones and forgotten lives. And it was cold. A kind of cold that wrapped around you in the darkness, sinking into your bones and straight through your flesh as though it was welcoming you, too, into the underworld. James kept his hand on the wall praying that his memory was enough to guide him to the second set of stairs. The crypt was like a maze, and it was not unknown for people to die, lost in the darkness. Every few steps he would check above him to the line of white chalk that marked the way. He knew it was silly, but a part of him was afraid that the darkness would swallow him whole and erase the chalk so that he would never be able to find his way out.

The second set of steps arrived almost too soon beneath his feet. If it weren’t for the set of torches that framed the entry to the staircase he might not have even known it was there. He might have lost his footing and fallen to his own death. Heart hammering in his chest, James took the steps down.

The tombs here were newer, though not by much. Population booms of the renaissance had left this layer full of witches and wizards. All pureblood. All descended from his ancient line.

There weren’t many pureblood families with distinct ancestral lines anymore. The Blacks were one, the Potters another. Every generation fewer and fewer of the Potters were able to be buried in the family crypt because they, like so many other wizarding families in Britain, were marrying muggleborns more and more. The crypt was from times when muggleborns were fewer and blood had meant so much more. Those whose blood was not ‘pure’ per se could not be buried here. James had never thought of his own death much in the past, but he worried now that it would mean that he wouldn’t be able to join his family in death. He didn’t mean to marry a pureblood witch, and he didn’t intend to part with her in death.

James banished the thoughts from his head as he found his way through the third and final level of the crypt. It was newer here. The floors were even, the ceiling stable. Stone arches filled the space, each arch carved intricately for the dead in the tomb beside it. His grandfather’s arch read Adolphus Potter, c. 1856-1951 and was decorated with soft birds that flew around the arch. The birds seemed alive beneath the stone. Beneath him was his grandmother, Emilia. To his left were a series of empty tombs carved into the wall. These, unlike the others, were not covered in stone slabs, banishing sight of the dead. These tombs were empty. These tombs were waiting for the Potters not yet dead. Two were empty, one above the other, and beside that were two that James knew were meant for him and his future wife. A chill crackled down his spine as he thought that one day he would be put in that very spot to lie for eternity.

James felt behind him for his father’s foot. When he found it, he let the invisibility cloak fall from his body and stuffed it quickly into his pack.

Gathering up his courage, James directed his father’s body into the first empty tomb. He fit perfectly. Finally, James released the spell. No longer would his father’s body follow him as they walked. James frowned. Something wasn’t right. He lifted himself up, resting his foot on the empty tomb beneath his father, so that he was looking at his father’s face. His hands lay at his sides awkwardly. Carefully, James moved his wayward arms so that they crossed over his chest and then closed each of his father’s eyelids with a shaking finger.

His hot breath misted in front of him where he gripped on tight to the edge of the tomb, but James couldn’t will himself to move. This felt like his goodbye. When he moved this would all become real. His father’s body would be laid to rest. When he left this place he would no longer be able to entertain somewhere in the back of his mind that his father was really sleeping. His father’s body was not his body, James thought, it was his corpse. His father was not there anymore. Not there, not here, not anywhere. His father was dead.

Tears suddenly reached James’s eyes and he jumped down from the tomb, stumbling backwards until his legs collapsed under him. It was all over. It was all real. His father was completely dead, and James had to somehow let him go.

James sobbed. The grief wracked his body like it was a physical thing. It beat him from the inside without mercy. He dug his nails into his bare, shivering arms. It was so cold.

The worst part was knowing that he would leave and nothing would ever be the same. Everything was over. He would never again hear his father’s voice, never again speak to him. Never see his face. No father would ever get angry at him again or offer him advice. It was just all done, all over, all finished. There was no reminiscent lingering after death. It was like a spool of thread left to dangle and turn in the air, spinning and spinning and growing and then suddenly cut. The spool was no longer a part of the thread. It was gone.

“Why,” James muttered, his voice clogged with tears, “did you have to go today?” He dug his fingers in deeper. “I’m sorry. I never should have left,” he choked, his voice unsteady. “Please forgive me.” He buried his head in his knees.

James wasn’t sure how long he stayed that way. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes red and veined, his skin splotchy and his glasses tottering askew on his nose, the cold of the crypt cut right into his bones. It took some effort to lift himself up. He wiped his eyes, feeling grateful that no one had been there to watch him. He lifted his wand, not sure how he did so while feeling so hollow, and spelled the tomb to cleanliness and to slow decay, and then covered the empty wall with stone. He and his mother would have a funeral for him within the next few days, and then they would have someone carve the tomb. The bare stone seemed wrong.

He stood where he was a moment longer, staring, and then finally turned his back.

James felt peculiarly empty as he rode the Knight Bus again. It was, perhaps, this emptiness that had moved him to change his destination. When the bus finally came to a lurching stop he got out in front of a tall, skinny house that was most likely exactly as big as it looked. The darkness of the sky didn’t stop James from moving around to the back of this house and through the skinny gate that separated this house from the one beside it.

The back of the house had about five windows, James saw. One had a plain white curtain, another a pale blue, two had shutters, and the last was thick cream lace. It was in the top right corner of the house. Making his decision James bent down and picked up a decent-sized rock.

It made a loud clack against the window, but hers was the only light that went on. The curtains parted and the window slid up. Her head looked out, all locks of messy red hair and bright green eyes. “Potter?” she whispered incredulously.

“Lily?”

 


	11. Entrances and Exits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Remus each meet with someone they hadn't expected to see.

**CHAPTER 11**

 

The first time Remus lied to Sirius was when they were in St. Mawes. It hadn’t been a full lie, that first one, because it had been half true. They were lying in bed half-naked not a week after they had met and Sirius was tracing the scars that ran along his back and torso.

“What are they all from?” he had asked. Remus supposed he was wondering if his new toy was as dangerous as he looked. Little did he know he was far more dangerous than any toy should be.

“Fighting,” was all Remus said. He didn’t add that while some scars were from fighting people outside of dodgy muggle bars, as Sirius would expect, others were from Dog Fights, and others still were from the nights when the Wolf was frustrated.

Sirius, distracted as usual, had left it at that and had given him shivers with his fingertips.

The second time Remus lied to Sirius was not long after that first time they had sex. Remus was soaked wet from the cold salt water that was the Celtic Sea. Sirius had been perched on a cliff drinking whisky on the rocks like the overgrown fairy Remus sometimes thought he was. Remus had mentioned that his family had been in St. Mawes for just over two months, and Sirius had guffawed.

“Two months! No wonder I don’t recognize you! Why did you move? And where did you live before?” Sirius’s family owned a large Georgian estate on the other end of town. The Blacks had been coming to St. Mawes in August every year since before Sirius was born.

To Sirius, Remus said, “I lived in Foxhole.” He hadn’t. “My dad has been having trouble finding work with wizards.” He hadn’t been able to find work in the wizarding world since Remus had been bitten. They had been living as muggles ever since. “Anyway, there was a job offer here and we couldn’t resist.” His father had obliviated a muggle’s memory to make him think he needed some help with his accounts. They couldn’t stay in St. Austell anymore after what had happened.

Sirius, of course, had not thought to doubt his big, scruffy toy and had instead laughed for no reason at all, as he was wont to do. “Why don’t we trade fathers then? I wouldn’t mind living as a muggle.”

“Sure,” Remus had said. That was his third lie. He would never wish his father on Sirius.

With most people it usually got easier after the third lie. The lies became his second skin, which he made more and more real with every false word and action. He would wear it when he ate and slept, but most of all when he talked and walked and smiled. Sometimes he thought he even fooled his mother and sister. Sometimes he fooled himself. He never fooled his father.

Although Mr. Lupin would say all the right things, like, “Of course I still love you, son,” and, “It’s not your fault,” Mr. Lupin knew when he was lying, and he hated Remus for making him do it. But he didn’t hide his glee when Remus won a round at the Dog Fights. He didn’t say no when You-Know-Who asked for his son.

With Sirius it still hadn’t gotten any easier. Instead each added lie had added a dark, heavy brick to the fortress around his heart. If it had been anyone but Sirius it might have been a relief to tell the truth, just this once, but it _was_ Sirius and everything had rested on his answer. Remus had said the magic word, the one that made everyone go away. He had wished that the word wouldn’t matter for Sirius. But it had.

He managed to get as far as a block before it hit him. He was shaking, his hands were balled into fists but somehow he managed to keep his feet plodding, one step after another. His breathing was heavy as the realization crept into his chest and then his mind.

He couldn’t see Althea or help his mother and he didn’t know for how long. James hated him. Mrs. Potter probably thought he was evil. Even his father was dead. And Sirius hated him.

Sirius hated him. He had taken that silver necklace and burned it into his flesh just like the Ministry had branded him so long ago. He had burned him. It still burned. He could feel it throbbing in his skin and that was the only reason he could believe this was all real. So many times he had imagined this, had thought of the alternative reactions Sirius might have but he had never really thought that he would react like this. He had hoped so hard that Sirius would soften and hold him, hold him and say, “Remus, that doesn’t matter to me. I’ll always love you.” But, of course, Sirius had never loved him to begin with. That much was clear and always had been.

He turned into an alleyway, not caring which it was or where he was, and fell against the stone. He had thought before that being a teenage lycanthrope was lonely. He had been fool enough to think that that had hurt. That it hurt to be rejected and shunned and treated like an animal by the Ministry and anyone who knew. That it hurt to be forced to fight. Now he realized how foolish he had been. Now he was alone. He didn’t have family or friends or a lover, and it was all his fault.

Slumped against the stone, his eyes closed against the heat but wishing it was rain instead, Remus felt thirsty. Not for water. Water could do nothing for him now, not when his outsides were shaking and his insides were not empty but raw. Water could only cool him from the heat, but what Remus needed was an absence of feeling. He needed to be somewhere that was not here or now.

He pulled himself back up and dropped his hands into his pockets. He was one of the wandering now, one with nowhere to go. The wandering and the lost were not hard to find, and they usually congregated together. Remus did not plan to break the mould. The congregation place was the place that he needed; the place that would quench his thirst.

It did not take him long to find a muggle bar outside of Diagon Alley, but it looked like a place where people went to see their friends and laugh and smile. He did not think he could handle a place like that now. He needed a place where people went to drink their lives away and wrap themselves in their misery. Remus’s misery was a heavy shroud, but one he could not toss aside. He needed to pull himself inside himself and wrap himself within, pulling and curling and tightening until the shroud was taut, constraining, pushing against his airways. Only then could he be released.

England was full of seedy pubs, some more seedy than others. It only took a few carefully plotted turns off the path to find the more hidden places that were there for those who sought them. These were the sorts of places he needed. He needed that dank, the dim lighting and the emptiness. He could not imagine laughing and smiling and loudness, not now, not when everything was so wrong.

The pub where Remus finally set out his glass was just the sort he had hoped for. It was dark, dank, and he could smell a faint scent of mould in the floorboards. By his twelfth glass of whisky he could tell his bartender had begun to water down his drinks. He thought he mentioned it, but he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t feel his lips, and his hands felt as though they belonged to someone else, but he was convinced that if he tried he would be perfectly able to make his way out.

If nothing else, he thought as his legs hung limply from his chair, his cup resting comfortably close to his hand, at least there was always alcohol. It wasn’t too hard for him to imagine himself in twenty years stumbling through London with a reluctantly disguised liquor bottle, matted hair and smelling like old piss and body odour. That was, if he wasn’t already dead. Death was perhaps a far more likely destination for him than homelessness. He was a werewolf, after all. It was hard to live very long as a werewolf.

Everything in the pub was a bit blurry. Remus thought he could see light coming in from a staircase in a corner, but otherwise the pub was dark and dimmed. He thought the walls may have been painted in a dark green. He wasn’t the only one in the pub, but it was unlikely that there were any wizards. He purposefully hadn’t looked for a wizarding pub. Everyone in one of those would be on edge. Moreover, he would see people he knew. Tom at the Leaky Cauldron would have cut him off long ago, werewolf metabolism or not.

Remus stared into his glass. The ice cubes swaying in the cup, their scratchy surfaces dancing to the soft lull of folk music, was hypnotizing. He couldn’t look away. His head felt like a drum; it pounded against his brain to a steady rhythm, but he didn’t mind. It felt far better than the alternative. It felt far better than it would have felt to really feel. Remus hadn’t wanted to feel, and he had achieved that elusive goal — at least for the night.

And then, like a dark wave, the smell hit him. It smelled like dirt and blood and vanilla. She was dressed like a muggle in tight high-waisted bell bottoms and a loose-fitted blouse, and she was the last thing he had expected to see today in London.

She hadn’t seen him yet; her eyes were searching the room for his face. His face because who else’s face would she be looking for? Her hair was up and she wasn’t wearing her glasses today. Her face turned. She was smelling him, he could tell by way her nose led her and not her eyes. Not now, he prayed silently to himself, but she had smelled him, she had seen him, and now she was coming.

He considered jumping from his seat and running through the door, but he didn’t think his legs, as wobbly as they were, would take him that far. Alyssa, as usual, felt no need for pleasantries. When she reached him she cupped his cheek with her palm. “Oh, Remus,” she murmured, lifting his face to hers. “What happened to you?”

He didn’t know how to reply. There were few things that hadn’t happened to him. Alyssa knew. Remus didn’t know if it was because she was also a werewolf, or if it was because of how they had first met, or if it was only because of how long they had known each other, but when Alyssa read his eyes she wasn’t blocked, like most people were, by his brick fortress. Alyssa could see right through.

Still standing, she rested his head against her side. “Oh, Remus. Your timing couldn’t have been worse.” Remus closed his eyes. Resting against the flat of her stomach the world seemed to take the liberty to spin, wildly. It spun in his head and out of it. The only difference was that when his eyes were open he could see it spinning. He couldn’t even consider what she meant by her words.

Gently prying him off her, Alyssa dropped to her knees so that she was at eye level with him. He couldn’t keep eye contact because her eyes kept multiplying, so instead he focused on her one single mouth. His head must have been swaying because she once more took it in her hands and focused him on her face. “Remus, listen to me. I have to get you out of here and then you have to come with me. It’s important. Can you do that?”

He may have shaken his head. He thought it was more likely that he simply became heavier in one direction or another and she became momentarily unable to balance his skull, because suddenly the world turned. “How much did you drink?” she asked him. When he didn’t answer she turned her question to the bartender, who was too far to hear or answer her. “How much did he drink?”

“Only a little,” Remus slurred. Alyssa scoffed. She moved to his side and held him up, his shoulder with her shoulder. He could tell that she was struggling because as strong as she was, he was still bigger than her and finding it difficult to hold himself up. He tried to help, but instead he found his legs buckling. Alyssa cursed, wrapping her arm around his waist.

“Stop,” she ordered, holding him close and firm. He tried to obey, he thought he did, though he still wasn’t steady. She walked him forward, holding him up all the while. Luckily, Alyssa was a tall girl, almost his height, or else she may have had more trouble. “Have I ever told you how stupid you are?”

“Maybe,” he slurred. She grumbled, huffed, but didn’t say another word until they left the bar to the distant-sounding catcalls and slurs of the others in the pub.

The street at night was tinted blue by the newly set sun and mostly empty. It was summer still, and what was usually night was now evening. Alyssa stopped and took a deep breath in at the edge of the alley. “You’re far heavier than you look,” she commented, but Remus’s world was becoming foggy and he couldn’t distract himself from the tottering sky for long enough to answer.

He wasn’t sure how long they were walking. It seemed like a few hours, it seemed like a few minutes. By the end of it he had closed his eyes. His pounding head hurt too much to keep his eyes open. He only lifted his eyelids again again when they stopped and he nearly crashed into a door. Alyssa knocked on the door with her knuckles, sparing him a glance. “You owe me,” she said.

The door opened. The man on the other side was middle aged, but Remus couldn’t focus well enough on him to see anything past that. All he could see was dark and light and colours, but he couldn’t say which was which. When the man saw them he immediately began to close the door, but Alyssa stuck her hand into the opening. “Please,” she said, “I need your help.”

“Why should I help you?” he asked.

“It’s important.” Unimpressed, he began to shut the door. “No, please! If you don’t, Kent-”

“Kent?” the man behind the door said, pausing. “What does Kent have to do with this?”

But by then Remus’s heart was thumping, his ears were pounding, and his stomach had begun to feel far too sick. The world was spinning and his head felt as though it had detached from his neck to be beaten on either side by a hammer. He didn’t get to hear what Alyssa said next because at that name, the world went black.

 

**~*~**

 

Without the locket he gave her, Lily’s neck felt empty. It had been silver and pretty and perfect, and she had loved it once, but it was gone now. Gone and fallen against the walls of Hogwarts. The day after she had thrown it she had gone back to look for it. It was so precious she couldn’t imagine losing it forever. But when she went to look for it, it was gone. Someone had taken it.

Even Petunia noticed. When she came home from the holidays she had tilted her nose and flared her nostrils as though she were sniffing something disgusting and asked her if she had “finally stopped being friendly with that horrible neighbour boy.” When Lily burst into tears Petunia hadn’t known what to say.

Her whole summer had been spent not going places. She had purposefully not gone to the park, not gone to the grocers. When she walked down the street she would purposefully cross to the other side in order to avoid his house. Luckily for her, or perhaps unluckily, she had barely seen Severus at all. The day before she had seen his mother and asked her where he was, but the answer she had gotten back was vague. Severus was somewhere that was not here, and Lily still didn’t know if that made her happy or sad.

Her thoughts had only crossed to Potter once or twice, and only when she had remembered her promise to him. A date. With Potter. Potter who had bullied Severus for years, Potter who teamed up with his friends to terrorize the school with their ridiculous pranks and schemes. Potter who was arrogant and selfish and obnoxious. But she wouldn’t be seeing Potter for two whole months, so Lily had put it from her mind. Then months had become a month, and now it was only weeks, but weeks were still weeks and they were far longer than just days, so Lily had barely given a thought to Potter at all.

That was, until his rock rapped at her window.

Lily was asleep when it happened. All night long her nose had been burrowed in a schoolbook under the light of her wand. She had fallen asleep with her hand on a page. When she heard the sharp rap of something hard against her glass window she had bolted up in bed. Her hair was rumpled and she wore a nightgown, but she rushed to the window without a thought because she was certain of the rapper’s identity. It had to be Severus coming to apologize and tell her that he was going to leave the Death Eaters, because who else would come to her house in the middle of the night?

She turned on the light and pulled the window up with speed she didn’t know she had. Half of her body was hanging out before she caught sight of the window rapper.

It wasn’t Severus.

James Potter looked like her mother’s rosebushes after they were destroyed by neighbouring dogs. He looked crumpled and broken and bare. His normally messy hair did not look, as it usually did, as though he had spent ages coiffing it to rumpled perfection. For once it looked the way truly messy hair did: unfixable and messy and completely accidental. His glasses hung on his face and his skin looked abnormally pale, absent of his usual exuberant flush. Even his clothes were a mess.

Something had happened, something terrible, or James Potter would not now be looking like an abandoned puppy on her back lawn. And for some unknowable reason, when that something had occurred, Potter had decided to come here. So it was no surprise that when she saw Potter against the dark, heavy night all that Lily could think to say was, “Potter?”

“Lily?” Potter croaked against the silence.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice hushed but irritated.

For a moment he didn’t say anything, and then, “Can I come up?”

“Up here?” she asked incredulously. She was only wearing her nightgown, and Potter was Potter. They didn’t even know each other, not really.

“Please? I really… I really want to talk to you,” he said. Lily thought for a moment. She knew what she ought to do. James Potter, who she had never liked and who could always be counted on to be both a bully and a prick, was outside her window asking to come in. To say no was the wise thing to do, she thought. She bit her bottom lip as she looked out over her back yard. Even so, even though this was Potter, not for the first time her curiosity was outweighing her caution because what reason could Potter possibly have for coming here tonight?

“Okay,” she said finally, hesitantly. His face flashed instantly into an expression of surprise, and then relief. “Meet me at the front door.”

She didn’t wait for him to reply. She knew he would follow. Lily turned and went down her stairs to the hallway. Her house was clean and neatly kept; not a thing was out of place. Anyone could have come and inspected it with a ruler and a white glove and found it impeccable. Her mother was a housewife and took great pride in her home. Petunia was like her, but Lily had always been the opposite. She was more like her father, who often dropped things and had to use a napkin to stop himself from spilling on himself when he ate. Her mother sometimes joked that it was a job in and of itself just to clean up after Lily and her father, but you couldn’t tell by the state of the house.

Even the doorknob was polished to shine like brand new brass. On a small hook by the knob was a white lace cloth which Petunia and their mother used to turn the knob. Lily hesitated for a moment, her bare hand resting on the knob, unsure of why she was opening the door. She still had a chance now to keep it closed and pretend this had never happened. All she had to do was walk back up to her bedroom and she wouldn’t have to think about Potter again for weeks.

But Potter was outside her door in the middle of summer holidays. If she didn’t open the door she wouldn’t see him for weeks, but it would also be weeks before she could find out why he had come to begin with. In the end, her curiosity won.

“Come in, I guess,” she said after opening the door.

Up close he looked even worse. There were bags under his eyes and his skin had a pale, sallow look. “Thanks,” he said. Lily paused. He seemed so absent of his usual pretence that he caught her off guard.

“You’re welcome,” she replied awkwardly. Neither of them spoke another word as she showed him up the stairs and into her bedroom. It was only when she shut the door that he spoke.

“ _Silencio_ ,” he whispered, pointing at the door. He turned to her, and smiled. It wasn’t a real smile. It was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

She wondered what he thought of her bedroom. When he looked around her room, and he looked around hungrily, it felt like he wasn’t looking at her room, but at her. “Why are you here, Potter?” she asked, her question mixed with hostility.

But he didn’t answer her question. Instead he looked just to her side, as though he couldn’t meet her eyes. “Have you heard about the ministry?” He hands were behind his back, one hand holding the other.

“No,” she replied, unable to keep the suspicion out of her voice, but her heart began to speed up in her chest.

“You didn’t get the pamphlet? From the Daily Prophet?” he asked.

“No,” she said again, “I don’t get the Prophet.”

Potter looked down and bit his lip. “Hundreds of people were killed today. By Death Eaters. Massacred. The Prophet is advising us to stay in our homes.”

“Is this another one of your tricks?” she demanded, advancing on him. But she was shaking. Something in Potter today, whether it was his eyes, his stance, his downturned lips, told her that he wasn’t lying. Even so she still expected him to change suddenly and tell her it was all a prank. But Potter didn’t change. He merely brought up his sad brown eyes to meet with hers briefly before letting them fall again to the floor.

That was another thing that left her confused. Potter never showed doubt or fear, but here he was and that was all she saw.

She clasped a hand to her mouth, covering the noise of a gasp, “That’s horrible… ” she said.

Potter nodded mutely, reached into his pocket, and fished for a moment before bringing out his hand, clenched into a loose fist. “I brought you your necklace,” he said, spreading his fingers so that her necklace hung between them. “I was going to give it to you on the train, but Sirius and I were in London — and then we left, but I still had it and I thought…” His sentence trailed.

“Why do you have it?” she asked.

“You threw it… that day.” He cleared his throat. “When you agreed to go on a date with me.”

“And you took it? Why are you giving it back to me now? Why not on the train home?”

Potter shrugged, but he seemed sad, disjointed, like a Frankenstein monster made of broken parts put hastily together. “Potter?” she asked again, her voice faltering.

“We went to the Ministry today,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “We saw… them. There were so many. We saw Death Eaters, too.”

Lily didn’t say anything despite her desperation to ask, especially that one question. But as much as she did not like Potter, she was not soulless. She would not drive a hammer into a broken boy, would not ask when silence was the key to his surrender.

Potter wrapped his arms around himself, his fingers grappling at the cloth of his shirt at his shoulders. Again, he could not seem to look her in the eye. There was something he was finding difficult to shape into words. She could almost see the words resting unformed in his chest and at the apex of his arms. He was silent for a while, so long that Lily wondered whether she ought to say something to break the silence.

But then he spoke, his words quiet and choked, “My father was one of them.”

For a moment Lily thought he meant his father was a Death Eater and almost asked, but if he was he would have been more angry than broken. Which only left the dead people found in the ministry for James’s father to be. But Potter’s father couldn’t be… “The-” she began.

“The dead,” Potter finished. “He was killed by Death Eaters.” He looked at her now, to gauge her reaction, she supposed. She wasn’t sure of how she looked, but she felt shocked. She felt pale. Her eyes felt wide and open. She felt stiff.

She must have looked how she felt because Potter scuffed his shoe half-heartedly on her pristine cream carpet, his hands clasped behind his back. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he said, “It was a bad idea, I’m sorry.”

And Lily wasn’t sure what it was, whether it was his demeanour, his shaking voice or merely that Potter was apologizing, but she interjected to say, “No — stay.”

“Really?” Potter asked. Lily flushed and nodded. She knew her cheeks must have looked like clown cheeks, with bright red spots against a head of bright red hair. Her bed looked inviting now, with its soft, downy sheets under a duvet that was too hot for summer. With a pause, she sat on its edge and patted the seat next to her for Potter to sit. The necklace still between his fingers on hands that were so much bigger than hers, Potter followed her gesture.

“So,” she asked when he seemed comfortable, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Potter bit his lip and leaned forward so that he was resting his elbows on his knees, then wiped his bottom lip with his thumb. “It happened because we were stupid. We left because of Remus, although I suppose I should explain him, too,” he began. “A week ago, or maybe two, I can’t think right now, the house across the street burned down. My family decided to take them in. The father died, but they have a son our age.” He looked at her. “We found out today that he’s a werewolf.” Lily felt her eyes widen, but in light of all the news she had been told, a werewolf did not seem quite so surprising as it would have on any other day.

“How did you find out?” she asked, and hoped that it wasn’t because he had bitten somebody.

Instead, Potter said, “He told us. And then silver burned him.” He let out a breath that shook. “But he was getting letters, and they were threatening us, and my dad was going to give them to people we were sure were Death Eaters, but he didn’t believe us. So we decided to take the letters, sneak out and try and see if someone in the Ministry would help us. I mean, the letters said they were from You Know Who. Someone had to. But then when we got to the Ministry everyone was dead. Everyone. And then I saw my father…” Potter stopped, and tightened his hand over his knee and squeezed. “He wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me.”

“You can’t have known,” Lily said softly. Potter shook his head and continued.

“There were Death Eaters there. I think they were Death Eaters. I think they were werewolves, too.”

“Was Severus one of them?” Lily whispered.

“Severus?” said James, confused, “I don’t know. I couldn’t see their faces.”

Severus had said he was trying to join them before, and at first she hadn’t wanted to believe him. He had begun to hang around Lucius Malfoy and the other boys like him, those boys who were cold and cruel and slithered like snakes in grass. Lily had hoped it was just a phase, or Severus simply making more friends, even if those friends weren’t her. But then he had stopped seeing her as often, and then on the last night of term he had pulled her aside into a hallway and told her with bright, sparkling eyes, that he had been accepted into the Death Eaters. It hadn’t been the secret she had hoped for, the secret which she would have been delighted to be pulled into a deserted hallway for. Instead his secret made her angry, more angry than she had ever been. So Lily had slapped him and stormed away, vowing as she left that she would never speak to him again so long as he was one of them.

How could he do that, after all? Severus who had for so long been bullied. Severus who had for so long been her friend, the one person she had thought she could trust more than anyone else. Others told her he was sneaky or slimy or cruel, but never before had she had reason to believe them. The Severus she knew was caring and kind and clever, one of the only people she knew who could keep up with her in an argument or who cared about school as much as she did. She had been convinced for so long that he cared for her as much as she did for him, but the Death Eaters wanted all muggles dead, wanted all muggle-borns dead, and wanted all half-bloods dead or gone.

Lily was a muggle, and Severus had joined the Death Eaters. That meant that he was willing to see her dead, even after everything.

Lily had hoped this summer even as she crossed to the other sides of streets to avoid the places they had once walked together that she would see him and he would tell her he had changed his mind. She had hoped so hard and had even once tried praying to the God her parents had taught her to believe in. But it seemed that not even God could sway Severus, because Severus had not told her that he had changed his mind. And now the Death Eaters had done this.

Lily picked up the necklace from Potter’s palm to his wide eyes. Her fingers shook. She wondered if he noticed, or if all he saw was what he touted as her beauty. “Severus gave me this,” she said. Perhaps she ought to call him Snape like Potter did, but no other name felt right, not after they had known each other for so long.

“Oh,” was all Potter said, but Lily didn’t hear him. Her eyes were on the necklace. She could feel her bottom lip becoming unsteady, thinking of him. Potter looked up, bringing his eyes to hers. “You looked beautiful in it.”

His hands shook as he raised the necklace so that it dangled from his fingers. The silver caught in the light and glittered as it moved. “Can I?” he asked, his voice hitching in his throat.

And Lily, tangled in his eyes, nodded, feeling the heat rush to her face. A small blush crept to his cheeks, and for the first time Lily found herself admiring the angles of his face and his long lashes and brown eyes that were really more beautiful than cruel. His attention was focused on the clasp; it was a moment before he managed to detach the parts. Once he did he raised her necklace to her collarbone and she reached back to pull away her mass of red hair. She shifted on her bed so that her back faced him and she was staring at her wall, plastered with moving photos and pieces of her childhood in lace and pink.

His fingers brushed against the back of her neck. The necklace was cold against her skin. A shiver went up her spine, and James paused. “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

“No. It’s okay,” she said, so he did up the clasp, and the necklace sounded with a snap. His hands lingered by her neck, but after a moment he let them fall. Lily looked over her shoulder at his face. She wasn’t sure when it was that she let go of her hair.

“Thank you,” Lily said, and her voice was every bit as ragged as his. The realization surprised her, but her heart was racing all the same. Warm and soft, his hand rested on hers.

“I should be thanking you,” Potter replied, but suddenly in her mind he was Potter no more, but James _._

“For what?” Lily asked, breathless, Severus abandoned in her thoughts.

“For letting me in,” said James.

Later, when asked, Lily wasn’t able to explain what spurred her to lean forward and give James Potter her very first kiss. It might have been sadness for Severus, or sadness for James, or it might have been her first descent into the abyss that was love, but Lily kissed him, and her heart raced and his lips were soft. His fingers reached to trace the outline of her jaw, then stopped midway, choked. James parted from her and put the hand that had moments before been tracing her jaw against his forehead, but not before Lily saw his eyes were suddenly wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” he said, but it came out more like a gasp and a sob than real words. Terrified, Lily froze, staring. One moment they had been kissing and now she was watching him cry.

“It’s okay,” she said, knowing that it wasn’t true and suddenly doubting her choice to open the door. James said nothing, his shoulders wracking and heaving. She realized that he hadn’t been speaking to her.

“I’m so sorry,” cried James. Gathering her courage, Lily made the move to lose her distance, secretly a little upset that she had made her first kiss cry. She put her arms around him in something like a hug, and leant her head upon his back. She stroked his skin soothingly with her thumb. She wondered for a moment about what to say, and then settled on nothing at all. They stayed like that until his sobs slowed and his breath eased and sleep came with the lights still lit. It shone against their skin.


	12. Love, a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus takes a walk. Sirius receives an unexpected note.

**CHAPTER 12**

 

Except for Alyssa sleeping by his side, the room where Remus awoke was empty. He slept on one of several couches framing the walls of a small, musty room. He thought the room was probably used for private meetings with clients, or meetings where the meeting matter was less than appropriate. The only light in the room came from behind a curtain that hung from the door.

“Alyssa?” he said, stirring. Alyssa woke with a start. The whites of her eyes were scattered with lines of red.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“One would assume,” Remus replied dryly, lifting himself up from the couch. He felt unexpectedly fine. After the amount he had drunk he would have expected to instead find himself vomiting over a porcelain toilet bowl or trying to shake off the headache with bacon and eggs.

“Remus,” Alyssa scolded, but Remus cut her off.

“Why are you here?” he asked. “No,” he said, lifting himself off the couch against Alyssa’s protests, “why am I here?” He was no longer drunk but his heart and mind still ached. He wanted to ask why he felt so able.

“Sit down-” said Alyssa, gesturing toward the couch.

“No,” Remus snapped, “Tell me why I’m here. Why are you here?”

“Remus, you shouldn’t be asking me-”

“I bloody well think I should-”

“No,” Alyssa stopped him, “Remus, you should know why.” When he didn’t answer she continued, “Tonight. Think of what day it is today. Surely you know.” Alyssa lifted herself up off the dark green carpet.

“No.”

“It’s the tournament,” she said. She wasn’t looking him in the eye, instead shaking out her untidy ponytail and then flattening the hair against her head.

“The tournament,” Remus replied flatly, feeling cold. His arms hung by his sides, purposeless. He ought not be surprised, he thought. After all, there were few other reasons for Alyssa to come find him, especially at this time of year. He only wished he had been paying attention to the days that were passing by, and then maybe instead of drinking himself away this afternoon he would have run, and far.

“It is August.” Alyssa paused, and placed her hands on her hips, raising her one eyebrow and pursing her lips as she always did before she began to lecture. “Are you trying to tell me that all of this was because you forgot? When you didn’t show up at trials the other day Kent flipped-”

Remus groaned, putting his hand to his forehead. Perhaps he didn’t have a hangover, but he was beginning to feel sick anyway. “I thought it was over.”

Alyssa paused. Her face scrunched into an expression that mixed confusion with scorn. “Over? Remus, that’s the whole point. None of this will ever be over.” Remus said nothing. “Remus?” He held one arm with his elbow while the other covered his mouth. His eyes were closed and his eyebrows were knotted together. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. He had really thought that after the fire this would all be over, but here Alyssa was telling him he was supposed to go back.

“My father is dead. Since the beginning of the month,” he said.

“Oh,” Alyssa said quietly. “What happened?”

Remus pursed his lips, taking a moment to look at her. She was a tall girl, almost as tall as he was. She was pale all over and muscled tightly like the fighting machine that she was. He wet his lips with his tongue, eyes on her face. She looked so concerned that she had to suspect.

“There was a fire,” he said. “My house burned down.”

She stepped forward and he could hear her heart begin to beat in her chest like a marching drum. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“It was supposed to be easier now,” he replied, ignoring her words of kindness. He could not take kindness, not right now when he wanted pain that hurt as much without as it did within. “I wasn’t supposed to have to fight. I was supposed to be normal now.” He paused, “Not normal, you know what I mean. We’ll never be normal.”

“But you thought you wouldn’t have to fight in the tournament.” It wasn’t a question. He nodded stiffly. “You should have known Kent wouldn’t have just let you go so easily.”

“I should have. You’re right,” he replied. He grimaced, patting down his pockets. When he found his wallet, flat and empty though it was, he let out a sigh of relief. His shoes were still on, so he didn’t have to search for them before standing and heading through the curtain.

“Remus, wait!” Alyssa cried.

“What?” he said, stopping with the curtain half lifted so that the dim light streamed into the little room.

“You can’t go,” she said.

“Why?” said Remus, turning back to face her. “I owe nothing to Kent. The dog fights are sick. I hate them, I always have, and now I have a chance to get out of them.”

“No,” she repeated, “You don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Remus said, exasperated.

Remus smelled the man before he saw him. His skin oozed with the scent of potions. Vile together, the smells clogged his nose. Had he not been a werewolf he would only have noticed a hint of something sour, but as it was he couldn’t help wrinkling his nose. He was middle aged and short, with the sagging skin of someone who smoked and ate too much.

“He’s up?” he asked, standing on the other side of the curtain-hung archway in his small shop. The lights, though dim, were brighter than the room Remus had woken up in. Small vials lined the room in bright colours, some thick, some thin, and some still bubbling.

Alyssa walked up behind him so that she was holding the curtain, too. “He’s up.”

“So you’ll be on your way, then? I need to be getting home.” He placed his hands on his hips, and Remus noticed a glint of light on his wrist where he wore an expensive-looking watch.

Before he could answer, Alyssa spoke for him, “Yes, thank you so much, sir. You won’t go unrewarded.” She gripped Remus’s arm hard with her hands and pulled him through the shop. When he looked down to ask, her gaze was steely. Remus closed his mouth quickly. He understood the need for silence even if he didn’t understand the reason for it.

The bell rung shrilly as they passed through the front door of the shop. Alyssa did not let go of his arm until they were a block away. They were in Knockturn Alley, and it was night. The only light came from hanging lanterns which served as lampposts and the light which squeezed out of windows.

Remus stopped in the street. Alyssa did not know that he had until she found herself pulling at him while he stood still. “What is it?” she asked. Her voice was quiet.

“You have to tell me. Where are you dragging me, how did you find me, and what is all this about Kent?” Remus’s voice matched hers in volume. He had turned to face her, grabbed her wrists where they hung at her sides. She looked scared, and her scared look made him nervous. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he added, just in case she wasn’t sure.

“You couldn’t,” she replied.

“Then what is it?”

Alyssa thought a moment, her lips pursed. Remus gestured for her to speak, letting go of her wrists, but she seemed to be gathering her thoughts. “Today is the tournament. You were supposed to fight, but then you didn’t show up. We had thought maybe something had happened, but then somebody saw you in the Ministry today. Kent ordered me to find you, and when I did, I found you drunk. Kent knows that potions seller. I figured that he might be persuaded to sober you up for me, and I was right.”

“He ordered you to find me,” Remus repeated. A sick feeling was growing in his stomach. Before he had been certain, almost sure, but sure with that dreamlike quality of disbelief. How could it be Kent, when he was living in James’s fine house, and no one knew he was a werewolf, and it had seemed like this normal life was a reality and not just a dream?

“He did,” Alyssa said. “Do you understand now why you can’t just go back? Kent doesn’t take ‘no’ lightly.”

But Alyssa didn’t have to tell him that. Kent didn’t take many things lightly, least of all himself. Kent was their training master at the dog kennel, the only wizard among so many werewolves, but in reality he was so much more. Kent was the one who was always there in the hot days of the summer tournament when they trained for weeks. He was there when they woke and when they slept. He knew everything and everyone, which was why so many of the audience would get friendly with him. “Who do I bet on this year, eh, Kent?” they would ask. Kent always knew, but he didn’t always tell.

“Do you know what he wants?” Remus asked.

Alyssa shook her head. “I asked, but he wouldn’t tell me. He said it was private, just between the two of you.”

Remus closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he could handle this on top of everything that had happened in the morning and earlier in the month. It was too much, too soon. He wasn’t ready. He hadn’t gone to where he had known he should because he hadn’t wanted to face what he knew he would have to. But now, perhaps because he had tried to avoid it for so long, what was happening was happening without his consent. He could run away, but Kent had been clear in his threats.

He felt something then, a touch of skin on skin. Her hands, smaller and softer, wrapped around his own. “Remus?” she whispered, her voice all uncertainty and care. He opened his eyes. There Alyssa was by his side, just as she always had been. “What happened to you today?”

She felt so gentle and her tone was so soft that it took all Remus had not to curl up and sob into her shoulder. But Remus wouldn’t cry, just as he hadn’t when his father had died, or today, excepting the tears he hadn’t been able to help when Sirius had burned him, and he hadn’t let those fall past his eyelashes. Instead he showed her his arm.

She didn’t gasp. Alyssa was not a girl who gasped and opened her blue eyes wide. She was no longer in a position of innocence. Neither of them were. She only pressed her lips together and examined the mark on his arm. “I saw this while you were sleeping,” she said, “It’s shaped like a heart; I’d thought maybe it was something romantic.”

Remus felt his face twist. “Romantic? Not at all. I’m here in London with two blokes and one of them accused me of killing his father. I tried to get away and in the process he and the other bloke realized I wasn’t a squib. They cornered me and burned me with a little silver locket for proof of whether or not I was a werewolf. I was a fool. I thought…” he gathered his thoughts, his breath, “I thought Sirius might not care. Instead, he was the one who burned me.”

“Sirius?” she asked, looking up in surprise. “What’s his surname?”

“Black,” Remus said quietly, “We met last summer. Do you know him?”

Alyssa paused, eyes widening slightly, and shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. “You never told me about him,” she said carefully. “He was with you?”

Remus nodded. “I never thought I would see him again, but…” he stopped himself before he could continue.

“But…” Alyssa said, urging him on. He tried not to look at her, he knew what her face would hold. He couldn’t help it though, not when her eyes were trying to lock with his.

“But I wanted to,” he said. He hadn’t told anyone else this part, but then there was no one but Alyssa who he would ever dare to tell. “I was in love with him even then.”

Remus felt cruel. He should not be saying these things, he thought, not here and not to Alyssa. Not when her eyes were becoming steely and hard from holding herself strong. Yet, Alyssa was the only one who he could tell, the only one who cared. She was the only one who wouldn’t be horrified because there was nothing about Remus that Alyssa didn’t already know.

“And what about him? This… Sirius. Does he love you?”

“No,” Remus replied instantly, his voice bitter. “I’m nothing but a toy to him. He loves his best friend and no one else has a chance.” He realized that his face had grown hot.

For a few moments the only sounds were those of the few walkers in the night. “I’m sorry,” Alyssa finally said.

“Me, too,” said Remus, thinking suddenly of a time when her kisses were the only brightness in bleak summers. But he had never wanted her any longer than a brief moment. Their kisses had not ended with a bang, but with a fizzle.

“You deserve better,” she said, “Someone who loves you back.”

“Maybe, but I want Sirius,” he said, then corrected himself. “I wanted him.” She rested her head on his shoulder and for a moment it was enough.

She drew herself away, her hands still over his. “We should go,” she said, and led him forward. They were more than halfway there when she stopped him again. Without warning she pushed him into an alley. She forced him against the wall, holding his wrists against the cool stone with her hands, pressing herself and her lips against him. Her mouth opened slightly against his, and Remus found himself responding to her tongue, her lips, her mouth. She pressed against him, bringing her hands up his shirt, and Remus pulled her closer. There was no closer that she could go, but even that right then wasn’t close enough. Nothing was better than skin.

Their kiss was movement and wrapped and fierce. They were two bodies that felt like one. They were Alyssa and Remus. They were warm and moist and tongues and lips and hands, but Remus couldn’t help wishing that they were Remus and Sirius. Where her lips were soft and her cheeks were smooth, Sirius’s cheeks were rippled by stubble. His hips were at his hips. His stomach was hard with muscle, not soft with it. His mouth whispered his name with the gravel of his voice, “Remus.” Sirius’s fingers on his stomach, “Do you like me, Remus?” Sirius pressing James’s pendant into his skin. “I think you need to leave,” he had said.

Remus pushed her away. It was unexpected; Alyssa stumbled. “Why did you do that?” she asked, “You didn’t… want…” Remus was already shaking his head. To what, he didn’t know.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“I want you,” she said, her voice whispery and soft. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus said again. “I can’t. Not now. Not while I still love him.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stumbled away, still coursing with that kiss, his hand steadying him against the wall. When he reached the corner he stopped and paused, not looking back. The only way was forward.

He didn’t have Sirius. He didn’t have his mother. He didn’t have his sister. His father was dead. He had never had a home, only houses. Mr. Potter was dead. Mrs. Potter would soon hate him as much as her son did. The only thing he had left was his integrity, and even that was a long lost joke. But forward was a something, and perhaps it was a something that did not lead to a death abandoned on a cobblestone step as a forgotten man, drunk and alone. He could not know until he met with Kent.

He wondered if Kent would laugh when he saw him. He would probably gloat. Well, he thought, shoving his hands deep inside his pockets, let him laugh. He could hear Alyssa following behind him. She didn’t need to lead. He knew exactly where they were going. He couldn’t even count the number of times he had knocked on the door to the Tenebrae Pub and walked down with his father beside Albert.

Today would be his first time going to the Tenebrae alone, he realized, as he walked through the twisted streets to the sound of Alyssa’s footsteps. They were not far when he saw a man knocking on the door of a building on the other side of the street. The building could have been anything; another potion’s shop, a pub, or a store. It could even be another hidden entrance into the dog pit. Nothing in Knockturn Alley was exactly what it seemed.

Not long after they passed him the man went inside the unmarked building. The door closed with a muffled thud. They were so close that Remus began to count the landmarks that led to the Tenebrae Pub. There was the door covered in peeling red paint, there was the patch of grass that grew along the edge of a building, there was the sign that advertised fresh fish. No fish were sold there. Rather, a set of stairs on the side of the building led down to an underground pub. Remus had never been brave enough to go inside. It was only for purebloods, people said.

He reached the door to the Tenebrae first, with Alyssa a mere step behind him. He knocked loudly, the old wood rough against his knuckles. It was Albert’s eyes that looked through the sliding peephole. He seemed surprised, though perhaps not as surprised as Remus had expected him to be. “Master Lupin,” he said, “I thought I might not be seeing you tonight.”

Suddenly his eyes dropped from view as the old man shut the peephole and jumped off his stool. Remus could hear him drag the stool away from the door and then lift the heavy steel lock. The door opened slowly. Albert was older than anyone knew and had worked in the Tenebrae for as long as anyone could remember. His head barely reached Remus’s chest, but even so whenever the old man looked at Remus they always seemed eye to eye.

“I didn’t think I would be here either,” Remus said carefully.

Albert was already hobbling away without a care for his bad leg, just as he always did. Remus glanced quickly at Alyssa before stepping through the doorway. It was busy tonight, busier than he had expected. If the streets were anything to go by, the pub should have been empty, but instead witches and warlocks were chatting in hushed whispers with drinks in hand. Many, he assumed, would descend down the steps to the dog pits when the time came. He could already see some heading towards the door.

“Your father won’t be joining us, I hear,” Albert said. Remus tensed at the tone of his voice. The old man had known they weren’t fond of each other.

“No, he won’t,” Remus replied.

“We’re going to see Kent, Albert,” Alyssa interrupted, “He wanted to see Remus as soon as he got here.”

“I know. I just didn’t think everyone else needed to know. Where did you think we were going?” Albert muttered. If they had not both been werewolves neither of them would have heard, but Albert wasn’t a stranger to werewolves.

Remus glanced at Alyssa’s face. She was blushing at the small man’s reprimand as he didn’t think she would blush for anyone else.

The path Albert was taking them down was indeed different from the one they usually took. Instead of heading down the lit stone steps and directly past the change rooms to Kent’s office they were walking down a different set of stairs entirely. It was not the steps for the fighters that Remus usually took, nor the steps for the audience that were found in the pub, but instead ones Remus assumed were for the staff. Small, bright stones were set into the ceiling to light their way down. The hallway at the bottom of the stairs was sparse and without decoration. Its shape was unfamiliar, but the walls were set with doors that had to lead somewhere. Albert stopped at one door after they rounded a corner. It was only after he turned the knob and led them in that Remus recognized where they were.

Kent’s office looked nothing like the sparse stone hallway. He had decorated the small room with rugs that covered the oiled wooden floor. On the walls were warmly coloured abstracts and trinkets set on shelves. The walls were painted cream over plaster, and almost everything else was some shade of brown.

Once they stepped through the door and Albert shut it, the door blended with the wall. The only hint they had that a door was there at all was the round doorknob that stuck out amongst the trinkets, but even it looked like another decoration. Remus had been in this office so many times, had so often sat in those garish leather chairs in front of Kent’s desk, his eyes wandering around the chaos, but he had never thought twice about the doorknob. He began to wonder which other doors were hidden throughout the pub and the pits.

Kent himself sat behind his desk, his arms resting on the surface. “You came,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly but smooth all at once.

“I did,” said Remus carefully.

“You can leave us now,” Kent said to Albert, and the old man let himself out of the room. “I’ve been trying to reach you for quite a while now,” he continued, turning back to face Remus and Alyssa. “What is it, three weeks?” Remus felt himself grow still. His stomach began to turn and the skin between his shoulder blades grew cold. Kent looked to Alyssa, “What do you think, sweetheart? Would you say it’s been about three weeks?”

Alyssa’s cheeks were flushed and bright. Remus could hear her blood pumping through to her face. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“What did you say sweetling? Why don’t you come over here so I can hear you,” said Kent.

Reluctantly, Alyssa walked to stand next to Kent. When she was in reach he patted her on the arse. “Let’s give your man a kiss hello,” he said.

Alyssa obeyed, but it wasn’t hard to see the reluctance on her face or the tenseness of her muscles. Remus could understand her displeasure, but he couldn’t understand why she was kissing Kent, especially so soon after kissing him. He tried to control the muscles of his own face, hoped he looked apathetic and not shocked. It was his reaction that Kent sought.

When he released her from the kiss, Kent leaned back again in his chair, his hand still on Alyssa’s bottom. Remus wished for a moment that Kent and Alyssa’s difference in age was his biggest complaint with what he had just seen, but that seemed minor when compared to the kind of person Kent was. Kent patted her arse then, like he was spurring a horse on a racecourse. “She’s a good girl, this one, wouldn’t you say?”

Alyssa’s eyes were sharp with fear. Remus could smell the scent off her skin. He clasped his hands behind his back, one hand clasped around the other’s wrist, wearing a placid smile despite knowing that no one would see his face and think he was happy.

Kent raised his eyebrows quickly, and leaned forward in his chair. He set both his elbows on his desk, folded above the wood. “Enough pleasantries, don’t you think?”

“If you say so, sir,” said Remus, although he found it difficult to call what had just happened pleasant.

Kent threw his head back and laughed loudly, leaning back again in his chair. His green eyes crinkled in corners where his laugh lines were starting to form. “You’re sir-ing me now, are you? That’s new. Never thought of myself as a sir. Call me Kent, Remus, like you usually do.” He snorted, “If I’m a sir then what are you?” Remus saw him roll his eyes as he reached down into his desk and grabbed a pen from one of the drawers.

Kent began clicking the pen, bringing the ink in and out of the tip. “Now, I’ll be frank with you, Remus. I wasn’t happy when you weren’t here at the start of training this summer. I was even unhappier when I found out about your father. John and I were friends. You know that, right? We had some… agreements. Especially about you.”

“I know,” said Remus. He glanced at Alyssa. She stood next to Kent, still as a statue, her hands at her sides.

“Good. So you’re aware that you were given, what would the schoolteachers call it? Oh, special attention. I made sure you won the fights you fought, Remus. I trained you harder than I trained anybody else. Oh, I gave you other help as well, you count on it. But I think the help your father most appreciated was of the, eh, financial nature. You’re a big betting card, Remus. Do you know that?”

He shrugged. He had known, or at least he had suspected, when the winnings they had brought home were far greater than the amount promised by the prize.

“People think it’s a sure thing when they bet on you. You’re big, you’re strong, you’re fast, and you win enough to call it regular. So sometimes you lost unexpectedly. Remember those times?”

Remus nodded. Sometimes just before a big game he would find himself feeling sluggish. One time he was sure someone had slipped itching powder into his shorts. He had always suspected that someone was trying to rig the matches, but he hadn’t thought that the someone he ought to suspect was Kent, or that his father was involved at all.

“You made us a lot of money, Remus. I don’t think you even know how much.”

Remus couldn’t help but think of how Sirius would have handled the situation. He probably would have had some sort of smarmy comment to add. He, like James, never seemed to know when to keep quiet. Remus, however, was no stranger to secrets and silences, so he let his mouth stay stony still.

“I don’t think I’d be wrong if I said that I’ve been keeping food on your family’s table for years. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you Remus?” Kent said.

Alyssa had asked him once if he had ever been interested in Kent. After, when he’d tried to wrap his mind around the question he had decided that perhaps to her the question had seemed reasonable enough. Kent was handsome, fit, with nice green eyes and full brown hair. He dressed well enough, too, even if he always tended towards exercise clothes and shorts and tee-shirts.

Except that Remus could never like Kent, not even as a friend. Some of the other werewolves became friendly with him, and sometimes that would win them gifts and advantages and sometimes even matches, but Remus had never been able to stand his company for longer than a training session.

“I’m not sure,” Remus said carefully.

Kent rolled his eyes then smiled, looking bored. “Your family, and more importantly at this point, you, are in debt to me.”

There was a part of him that had known this was coming. It seemed like a hurtling train, coming at him at full speed while he stood with his feet glued to the tracks. “What do I owe you, exactly?” he asked carefully.

“Glad you asked,” said Kent, twiddling his pen between his fingers at a rapid pace. “Right now, what you owe me is service. You were bought at a very steep price from some very important people.”

“And if I don’t… give you service?” Remus replied, his stomach feeling hard and stiff with discomfort.

Kent’s pen stopped. He leaned back in his chair, resting his arms on the armrest and raising his eyebrows. “Then I know exactly where your mother and sister are right now, and more importantly, so do your buyers. Look, these are not people you go back on a deal with.”

“Our house burned down,” Remus said.

“I never said your house, Remus. I said I know where they are. They are living with the Potters. Or should I say that they are living with Mrs. Potter since young James has been out galavanting with you and the Black boy since yesterday and Mr. Potter was killed today at the Ministry.”

“You’re the one who’s been sending the letters,” Remus said, even though he had already known, but still he felt the need to confirm it. Kent looked unimpressed.

“Of course I’m the one who sent you those letters, Remus. What did you think I meant by ‘You know who?’ The Dark Lord? No. I meant that you know who. And you knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Remus admitted.

“And yet you still took your friends out on this hunt?” Kent tittered. “The things you people will do to keep a secret.” He shook his head. “Now, if I were you I would have just left and come on my own. That way I wouldn’t have put anyone else in danger. Not like you, Remus. You just went along and now Mr. Potter is dead. And him so kindly protecting your infected family. Now, why did you do that?”

“I tried to make them stay,” he protested, but he could hear himself and he sounded unconvincing. Alyssa was looking at him from the corner, alarmed and concerned. She agreed with him, he realized. She was concerned because she thought Kent was right, and that it was his fault. She might hate Kent, maybe even as much as he did, but she wanted him and the things he gave her enough to let him have her, and the thought made him feel sick.

Kent shrugged. “Maybe you did. Now, I wasn’t there to talk to Mr. Potter about why he was at the ministry today, but I assure you, you probably had something to do with that.” He looked up, his cold green eyes focused hard onto Remus’s, his face as still and firm as carved stone. “But if anyone else in that house is killed, then, Remus, that will be your fault.” He folded his arms in front of him and narrowed his cold eyes. “Now what do you say, Remus? Do you still refuse me your services?”

He could feel himself cowed. He could feel himself bowing. He wondered if his mother knew what he would do for her and Althie, or if she still wondered if he was the makings of a cold blooded killer. Or maybe he was, and maybe this was just the beginning of a career of cold killings. Maybe people didn’t always destroy by killing, but also by protecting.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice like slow, sick gravel. He had not moved since their conversation began.

Kent’s mouth twitched. The man was looking out at him through the corner of his eye, his whole face seeming to grin in one corner, leaving the other side grim and amused but unsmiling. “I knew you would understand my logic.” He relaxed his arms once more. “Now that you ask, I’ll tell you. Tonight, I have some very important people who want to watch you perform in the ring. Word of your little performance in the Ministry today has them a bit scared about your level of commitment. I need them to see you in the ring, committed, and I need them to see you win. If you can’t convince them of your commitment, then I won’t get my money and neither will your poor mother, who has inherited this business arrangement I had with your father, I suppose, and that’s no fun, but someone’s going to have to be responsible.”

“You’ll kill me if I don’t fight,” Remus said.

Kent shook his head, “Remus, you are underestimating the Dark Lord. He does not like traitors or their families, do you hear me? We’re partners in this now, Remus, and so long as we’re partners I’ll continue to do everything I can to help your family, just like I always have. But I can’t promise the same if we are no longer partners. Do you understand?”

Remus did not need clarification. He understood. His body was bitten with fear. Even though he knew — they all knew it would not be too hard to kill Kent with their training, their strength — he couldn’t face the consequences. Kent’s important friends would make sure they suffered. Strength, when it came to power, was not enough. In the end strength was only a tool used by powerful people to carry their power on their backs. So Remus nodded. It was everything he had fought so hard against, but even he understood that sometimes there came a time when integrity was a privilege held only by the powerful.

“I understand,” he said quietly.

“Good. I knew you would,” said Kent. “Your match is at eleven. I think it’s about time to get ready, don’t you? I hope your lack of training this summer doesn’t hurt your chances. It had better not.”

“It won’t,” Remus promised, although he was already unsure. He turned and went to the door that led out into the hallway that he knew.

“You’d better go with him, Alyssa,” he heard Kent whisper to Alyssa, “Get him there, and then come right back…”

Remus was turning the knob when he felt her at his back. He looked back to meet her eyes. She did not judge him. She understood.

She went out before him, and Remus almost shut the door when he heard Kent. “There are always consequences for your actions, Remus. Always,” he said.

Remus shut the door. He knew.

 

**~*~**

 

In his dream, Sirius sat in a hammock. His hands were behind his head and he was staring into the blue sky spattered by clouds. “I’ve brought you something,” he heard someone say below him, next to the hammock. It was Remus, he knew immediately. Sirius sat up and swung his legs over the edge.

“What is it?” he asked. Remus was on his knees, holding a small box wrapped in ribbon.

“It’s chocolate.” Remus brought the box up, higher, so that Sirius could reach down and grab it. He loved chocolate, so he tore the ribbon from the square box, and opened the lid. The chocolate heart inside was so big it nearly filled the box, but Sirius couldn’t hold it. He dropped the box in horror. His heart thudding in his chest he looked down at Remus.

“Th-” he began, but the word died in his throat. Below him Remus was on his hands and knees, panting. He looked up at Sirius, but his face was gone. A wolfish mask was forcing away his face. Remus’s eyes looked up at him, pleading, and in that short moment it felt as though everything slowed.

“Remus?” Sirius whispered. But Remus looked down, and when he looked back up, he wasn’t looking at Remus anymore. He was a wolf and covered in fur, and the wolf sat on his haunches, breathed and then howled at the moon.

Suddenly Sirius’s hammock was shaking. He grabbed onto the edge, but he felt like he was slipping, falling. The ground shook and pebbles and rocks began barraging down mountains he hadn’t even known were there-

Sirius woke. The ground was not shaking, not even close. He gripped his covers with unsteady fingers. It took him a moment to register awake what he had heard while he was dreaming. Against the window pane there was the furious sound of tapping by something small and hard. Bleary-eyed, Sirius threw off his covers. James was absent from his bed; likely he was in the bathroom having a good wank over Lily Evans.

The owl at the window was behaving more like a woodpecker. “Shut up, I’m coming,” Sirius mumbled. The owl didn’t seem to have heard him, because it kept pecking away at the window. Sirius sighed, opening the window for the owl half-heartedly. The bird flew in, flapping its wings at his face. “Ow! Stop - Look, I’m awake, just -” And then, suddenly, the bird settled, and began prancing in circles on the bed. Sirius narrowed his eyes, noting the dark black sky beyond the window. “I still have to sleep on that bed. If you shit there, I swear…” His sentence drifted, abandoned, as he stared at the letter attached to the bird’s ankle. A letter. Finally, Sirius was awake. Why was he getting a letter? Remus was gone. He went to the bird carefully, and the owl held its leg out dutifully for him. Sirius detached the letter from him quickly.

“James!” he called, “We got a letter!”

Sirius unrolled the envelope and tore it open. The letter inside was just like the others. Small and square; no unfolding necessary. Just a few words were on the page, written in black ink this time. The writing looked different tonight, he noticed. The letters squat and crooked, like the hand of a practiced child. It said:

 

_Sirius Black_

_You won’t find your friend because we have him. To get him back, come to the Tenebrae Pub tonight at 11._

_Love,_

_A friend_

“James,” Sirius called out cautiously, but he heard no response. “James!” he called again, setting down the letter and walking to the bathroom. It opened with a bang as the door sounded against the wall. “James!” But James was not in the room. James was gone.

With shaking hands Sirius picked up the piece of paper that he noticed now, resting on the bedside table. It was written in James’s hand. ‘Sirius,’ it said, ‘There is something I need to do. Please don’t follow me. I’ll be back by morning. James.’ Sirius’s eyes widened. Whatever he had tried to do, whatever reckless deed he had carried out, it had clearly not gone in his favour. James was in danger. Sirius dropped the note, running out of James’s bedroom again. His cries had woken Mrs. Potter. She stood, red-eyed in front of her bedroom door, unsteadily blinking away sleep.

“Why are you calling for James?” she asked. Sirius stood still, his mind too panicked to think of the right words to say.

Finally, he settled on a few. “It’s nothing,” he lied.

“You sounded scared,” she replied, frowning. “Is everything alright?”

No, Sirius thought. “Yes, it’s fine,” he said. He couldn’t ask Mrs. Potter to stay up late again worrying about her idiot son.

“Where is James?” she asked.

Sirius settled on a half truth. “I think he’s gone on a bit of a walk. He shouldn’t be gone long. You should just go back to sleep. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you waiting up.”

“But you were yelling for him, you sounded scared and you look it,” she said.

Only a few doors down, Althea and her mother opened their bedroom doors. Sirius just wanted to run barefoot to his best friend. “What’s going on, Evelyn?” asked Mrs. Lupin. “I thought you’d gone to bed for the night.”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius answered for her. “James went for a walk but I wasn’t expecting to see him gone. I panicked, but it’s nothing. Just go to sleep Mrs. Potter.”

Mrs. Potter’s eyes and mouth pinched into a narrow line. “I see,” she said. Mrs. Potter’s gaze felt like steam at his skin. Sirius couldn’t hold her eyes; he looked to the floor, biting his lip. He wondered what on earth the Tenebrae was and how on earth he could find it, hoping that she couldn’t read into his thoughts. “Well, Sirius? Are you going to go to sleep?” asked Mrs. Potter.

Sirius couldn’t see how he could avoid it. He said goodnight to Mrs. Potter again and shut the door behind him. He put his back to the door, surveying the room, waiting for the lights in the hallway to turn out again and for Mrs. Potter’s bedroom door to shut. When they did he went to James’s bedside table and picked up his resting wand as well as the pack from the night before. They hadn’t had the chance to remove its items. James’s pack was gone. Sirius wondered if he should write a weekly opinion piece for _Witches Weekly:_ “My Best Friend, the Idiot.” He would have a lot of material.

He unlatched the bedroom door, his hands still shaking with adrenaline. The hallway was dark, but he knew these halls backwards. He went down the steps overlooking the living room. Sirius paused. The fireplace no longer crackled and the floo network for the house had been shut down for security, but just forty paces away was Mr. Potter’s corpse. James must have told his mother, Sirius thought to himself, a feeling of dread coming over him. A man compelled, he walked to Mr. Potter’s body. The man lay flat in the air, he knew, so he walked with his hands out in front of him to feel for his clothes or his shoes or — though he hoped he wouldn’t find it — his head. But instead of any of these Sirius felt nothingness. Standing right where Mr. Potter had been, Sirius’s eyes widened. James had taken Mr. Potter with him.

Sirius didn’t kick the wall, though he wanted to. Instead he cursed to himself as quietly as he could, making his way to the door to the house. He most definitely couldn’t tell Mrs. Potter now. Rounding the corner to the bedroom door, however, he was stopped by someone small. The girl always somehow managed to be lurking in the shadows.

The pint-sized gatekeeper stood defiantly in front of the door to the house. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on I will scream,” she said.

Sirius had to briefly close his eyes in a prayer for patience. “Althea, everything that’s happening right now, it’s not a joke.”

“I know. You scared Mr. and Mrs. Potter yesterday. It’s not right.”

“Is that what this is about? Mrs. Potter? I’m the one trying not to scare her here.”

“Where is my brother?” she asked, her big eyes trembling.

Sirius sighed and looked down. “I don’t know, Althie.”

“You don’t get to call me that anymore,” she said. “He liked you.”

Sirius though of blood dripping from elongated fangs and had to shiver the thought away. “Althea,” he corrected himself, putting one hand to his forehead, “how about this? If you promise to keep quiet until morning, then I’ll tell you everything. That way if I’m not back for breakfast somebody knows where to look for us.”

“Remus, too?” she asked, singleminded.

Sirius hesitated. “I don’t know about Remus. I haven’t heard from him since this morning.”

“He’s alone without us,” she said.

“Althea, can you do what I asked?” Sirius said.

“Can you help my brother?” she asked back. Sirius sighed. She was persistent, he would give her that.

“If I tell you that I’ll do what I can, will you let me leave?” he asked.

“And you’ll tell me what’s going on,” she added. Sirius nodded, shifting the weight of his pack on his back. “Deal.”

As quickly as he could Sirius told Althea about James’s disappeared father and the notes he had received. “I’m going to somewhere called the Tenebrae Pub.” He paused. “What is it?” he asked at Althea’s frown.

“I think I know it,” she said.

“How?” he asked.

“I think I heard Remus and my dad talk about it sometimes,” she said. Sirius ran the possibilities through his mind. Remus had hurt James. James had hunted out Remus. Someone Remus knew had taken James to Remus’s favourite pub. He couldn’t think of why the two would be linked, but somehow they were.

Sirius shoved his feet into shoes. “Can I go?” he asked once the small girl was satisfied. When she finally nodded he rushed at the door.

“Take me, please,” she asked quietly, looking out through the doorway, her fingers enclosed over the door.

“Althea, you’re eleven,” said Sirius before shoving her inside. He was running with his wand poking from his pocket. The night was dark, lit only by street lamps and stars. Sirius stopped, panting at a street corner.

The Tenebrae Pub, the letter had said. He felt like ripping out his hair. Who listened to anonymous notes, and more importantly, who actually followed them and obeyed their instructions? He felt helpless. The ministry, all of it, was gone overnight. Mr. Potter was dead. Mrs. Potter’s health wasn’t good enough to go running after her son into the night. James was missing, and maybe in danger. His mother had burnt him off the family tree.

Remus wasn’t an option either. His heart slowed as the thought came to his mind. He imagined Remus pushing through bushes, appearing again with those eyes and that mouth. But Remus wasn’t an option. He was a monster, a werewolf, and besides, he might have hurt James.

“James,” Sirius called, but his voice was only a whisper. It felt wrong to yell in the quiet. He held out his wand. He might regret it later, he thought, but once again James was leading him somewhere he didn’t want to go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read this far, then brilliant! I hope you're enjoying the story! Please note that I update every Monday and Thursday. Don't worry, my updates are reliable as this fanfic is already written and edited. Enjoy, and I look forward to seeing you soon!


	13. Chapter 13 - The Tenebrae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius visits the Tenebrae Pub.

**CHAPTER 13**

 

The Knight Bus didn’t take Sirius directly to the pub. Instead it dropped him off outside of Diagon Alley. The witch at the wheel directed him to head into Knockturn Alley. “Ask Tom,” she said before driving away.

Tom, who worked at the Leaky Cauldron’s bar and who Sirius found wiping down tables, paused when he heard where he was going. “You’re a bit young for that, eh, Sirius?”

“What?” Sirius asked, “I’m old enough to drink.”

Tom shrugged, “Not that. Never too young for that,” he grinned. “Naw, I meant yer too young for them fights. They can be brutal, them. I’ve heard o’ fights even where they’ve put one against muggles or even wizards. ‘Course the poor brutes always lose them fights against a wizard, but…” He frowned, narrowing his eyes at him. “You never struck me as one with a thirst for blood.”

“I’m… meeting a friend,” he said. “I’ve never been there before.”

Tom harrumphed, “Better tell your friend not to bet on the werewolf.”

“What?” Sirius asked, forcing Tom to stop wiping.

“Werewolves. At the Tenebrae.” Seeing Sirius’s blank expression, Tom continued, “It’s what they’re known for. Werewolf fights. They’ll put two together, sometimes on the full moon, sometimes not. Sometimes against each other, sometimes not. The biggest ones are on the full moon I think. John said he saw one where they starved them both and made them fight to the death.” Tom shuddered, “Nasty stuff. I never go meself.” He sighed. “But yer going?” Sirius nodded. Tom sighed again, giving him the directions with his wand. “It’s not far,” he added.

Tom was right. The Tenebrae wasn’t far, not at all. It took Sirius less than ten minutes and only a few turns to find it. Inside, the pub was marked with signs of earlier busyness. The tables were strewn with used mugs and plates were dirtied by leftover food. A few wizards had stayed back, still speaking over mugs of butterbeer. Perhaps it was because the pub was in Knockturn Alley, but the air in the Tenebrae did not seem to teem with fear as Diagon Alley had earlier in the day. Instead Sirius thought he could feel excitement buzzing like electricity between the pub’s patrons.

He must have looked a bit lost, standing alone in the pub, not even looking for the bar, because the short man who had opened the door waddled to him. “Are you looking for the Dog Fights?” he asked.

“Well-”

“They already started at eleven,” the man interrupted.

“No, but-”

“Then what are you looking for, if not the bar and not the fights?” he asked.

“My friend,” Sirius replied. When he found himself allowed a moment to explain, he threw his words into the second of silence. “He’s average height, thin, dark hair, brown eyes, glasses. I think he was wearing a blue shirt… or was it gray? His name is James Potter. Have you seen him?”

The man shook his head, his wrinkles curving into a frown. “Your age?” he asked. Sirius nodded his head. “I’ve not seen anyone like that. Are you sure you came to the right place? I think your friend may be somewhere else.”

Sirius shook his head vigorously. “No! It said he would be here at eleven.” He could hear himself sounding desperate, but he felt desperate. Today the wizarding world had collapsed, his best friend’s father had died, and he had learned the truth about Remus. He couldn’t take losing James, too.

The small old man frowned. “What said?”

“The… letter…” Sirius’s voice trailed off, unsure of whether he had said too much or spoken to the wrong person.

“A letter told you to come here at eleven tonight to meet your friend? And you’re late? Who was this letter from?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Sirius said, suddenly realizing how ridiculous it all sounded. Following the instructions of a letter that didn’t even say who it was from. They had been chasing words in ink for days, and now it felt like a normal thing to do, so normal that he hadn’t even thought it through. He had read it, and he had run.

Perhaps the small man was thinking the same, but he didn’t say so out loud. He only harrumphed and ran his thumb along his chin. “Stay here,” he said, slipping away into a shadowed hallway.

Sirius stayed, waiting, unsure, for some kind of answer. When the man came back a few minutes later the expression on his face was curious. “Come with me,” he said, beginning to walk away.

“Wait,” said Sirius, “Where are you going?”

“I’m taking you downstairs to the Dog Fights,” he said. The old man led him to the main hallway that branched off from the pub. It was dark and, like the pub, he could tell it had seen better days. The only light came from torches hung on the wall.

“But I’m meeting -”

“I know who sent you the note.”

Sirius had to follow the man to hear his words. He didn’t stop for Sirius. Sirius doubted he stopped for anybody. “Who?” he asked.

“They will reveal themselves in time. It is not for me to tell.”

Sirius stopped. His stomach churned in a mix of anger and fear. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. “This is some kind of trap, isn’t it,” he said dully.

The old man kept walking, shrugged. “You won’t know unless you come.”

“Then I won’t come,” Sirius called.

Now the old man stopped, and turned his head. “Then perhaps you aren’t a very good friend.” Without another word, he continued down the hallway, his pace as quick as ever.

His words left Sirius feeling sick. Not for James, never for James, he had done everything for James, but for Remus. Perhaps he had wanted Remus, kissed, maybe even… but it was possible he hadn’t been a very good friend. However, this wasn’t Remus. He would probably never even see Remus again. No, this was James. James was in danger. If he followed this man he might find James, and wasn’t that better than taking the chance of abandoning him?

In the moment it took for him to think it, the old man had rushed ahead. Sirius couldn’t tell if he cared about what he decided. But James was in danger and if there was even the chance -

Sirius’s legs moved with swiftness given by length. The old man’s head was soon bobbing in front of him, and they walked together down the hall. Soon the flat surface of the ground gave way to a deep flight of stairs, and the pathway split in three. The man kept going down the stairs. Sirius followed, his hands on the walls to keep himself from slipping on the long way down.

As they descended, Sirius began to hear a buzzing noise. At first the sound was difficult to place. Soon, that buzzing sound gave way to a distant roar. Crowds, he knew at once. Chanting. Clapping. When they reached what he guessed was the bottom the roar was distant no more. He could hear dozens, maybe hundreds of voices cheering and yelling and heckling. He was close.

The old man opened one of the double doors that led into the arena. Sirius was hit by a wall of sound and light. There were people on every surface, mostly men. Most held a beer in hand. There were old ones, young ones, fat ones and thin ones. Rich and poor alike were crammed in to get a view of the fighting. The man led Sirius through the crowds until they were near the front. Somehow he managed to find a spot on the bench where there was still some space. He shoved two brusque men aside to seat him. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll come and get you after the fights.” Sirius didn’t get the chance to argue, because before he knew it the old man had slipped away into the crowd.

Sirius waited on the bench, wondering if he was supposed to be waiting for someone. “Um,” he said to the man next to him, feeling stupid, “Do you happen to know where my friend is?”

The man next to him was an older wizard with greying blonde hair and clear blue eyes. He shook his head and took a drink from his open bottle of beer. “How should I know?” The man sitting on Sirius’s other side glanced at him quickly before returning his eyes to the stage. Sirius assumed that meant he didn’t know anything either.

Defeated, Sirius watched. Behind the metal netting some shirtless man was thrusting a fist into the air to the cheers of the crowd while another shirted man held the fist he had raised. They could almost be holding hands, Sirius thought, but this was boxing. Even the gayest things in boxing weren’t openly mentioned as gay. In the far corner another man was lying with his back on the floor. No one was paying any attention to him. “Is he dead?” Sirius yelled over the roar to his greying neighbour.

“No, he’s just knocked out!” his neighbour yelled back. He was leaning forward in his seat with his beer, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Oh, that’s good,” Sirius said.

“This bloke who just won is a old dog. He’s won plenty of times. Big name. You ever seen him fight?” he asked.

“No. This is… my first time…” Sirius replied.

His neighbour looked shocked. “Your first time? Son, you sat next to the right man. These games have lots of good history, and lucky enough I know it all.”

The crowd around them was settling a bit, speaking now instead of cheering. They seemed to be readying themselves for a new match. The man who had been knocked out was being carried off the platform, and the winner had retreated to a corner to cool down and get a drink.

Sirius wondered if the other man could see his hesitation. He pointed for Sirius at the man who had won the match. “That one, there, his name is Reed Pierce. Won three tournaments in a row once.” He pointed at the man being carried away. “That there is Knox. Don’t know his real name, he don’t like to give it. He’s a fighter, that one. Should have been the champ this time, but he made a mistake. See? When Pierce knocked him out he was focusing on Pierce’s feet. Should have been looking him in the eyes. But Pierce, he never looks away. Brilliant fighter.

“Pierce won, so he’s going to fight the next guy. Now that one, he’s an old bugger. Young guy, but he’s been fighting here for years. Got bit when he was but a wee one, I hear. Fighting so long so’s he’s fierce. He even done fought moon matches and won one to the death. Won a lot o’ money, I bet.”

“Moon matches?” Sirius asked.

“Starve the beasts and have ‘em fight each other on the full moon. It’s brilliant. Even I get scared, though. They’re fierce, them, and they thrash against their cages like beasts from hell.” He glimpsed the look on Sirius’s face and rushed on, “Don’t worry. They never get out the netting. We’ve got wizards on security.”

“Jesus…” Sirius muttered.

“What?” the man beside him yelled over the noise. Sirius shook his head, imagining being trapped in that wire netting with another man and knowing that one of them would have to die that night. He wondered what he would do. He dug his fingernails into his legs. He didn’t have to know. He wasn’t a werewolf. He would never fight in one of these. He wasn’t a monster. He was a man. A man.

“I’m Barry, by the way,” his neighbour was saying, holding his hand out to shake.

Sirius shook it. “I’m Sirius,” he said warily. There were so many people in the crowd, all delightedly watching two werewolves give each other pain. Who were these people? Where did they come from? He wondered if this was just what adult men like Barry did at night; watch beasts kill each other.

“Want a beer?” Barry asked, reaching from under his knees and pulling out a drink. Sirius hesitated. “Come on, have a beer!” Barry shoved the drink into his hands.

“Uh, thanks,” Sirius said. Barry was looking at him expectantly, so he took a drink.

And then the crowd was cheering again. Their voices were loud and together they were a chorus of noise. Sirius clamped his hands over his ears. Barry was patting his arm, gesturing for him to watch the stage. “There he is!” he yelled into Sirius’s ear.

The man walking onto the stage was young and fit, his body covered in scratches and scars. They were all yelling for him, but he was not moved. His eyes were focused on the man in front of him. Sirius felt himself go still. It was Remus.

It wasn’t James that was here, it was Remus. The man at the door hadn’t remembered seeing James because James wasn’t here, only Remus. James was missing, but not here. That was Remus. James wasn’t in danger. Remus was in danger. Remus was on stage. Remus was about to fight. Remus was the one who had been bitten as a kid and Remus was the one who had been fighting for such a long time. Remus had killed people here and Remus had been starved to fight on the full moon. He had gone looking for James but instead he had found Remus.

“You okay, son?” Barry yelled into his ear, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Barry pointed at his hands, “And you’re shaking. I told you, they can’t get out of the net! Don’t worry like that, there’s no need. You’re a wizard, you’re fine.”

He had to go. He couldn’t save Remus, not from this. He had done this to himself. He had done the right thing, pushing him away. Remus was a monster.

But instead of getting up and walking away, Sirius sat. He was close enough that he could see Remus raise his head and sniff the air, confused. But he wasn’t given time to think. The referee was walking to him and his opponent was walking behind him. Remus and Pierce stood face to face.

“Lupin and Pierce face today for the first time in four years-” Four years, Sirius thought, four years ago they had been thirteen. When he had been thirteen he had worried about whether he was disappointing his parents and if he even wanted to please them. He never worried about having to kill or be killed. “- and today we find out what beats what. Age, or experience? Dogs, shake hands.”

Sirius wondered if Remus was scared, or if he loved it. He had snogged boxers, and they had told him they loved the adrenaline. That it was more like a game of the mind than a fight to the death. But these fights sounded more brutal than any chess game. People weren’t meant to die boxing, but they were meant to die in the Dog Pits.

Sirius began lifting himself from his seat. “I know him-” he said. Barry yanked him back down by his arm. His eyes narrowed.

“Then don’t distract him. That’s a right way to make him lose.” He harrumphed, and Sirius was surprised that he could hear him. The crowd was settling into quiet to hear the sounds of fighting. Barry continued, “Don’t spoil it for the rest of us. We want to see a good match, not a slaughter. I know I’ve been waiting for this tournament for months.”

Remus shook hands with his opponent. Pierce looked to be about thirty-five. He was only a little shorter than Remus, his skin reddened by the sun and sweat, but Sirius could see the tautness of his muscles, how they were wiry and strong from so many years of use. Remus was tall and his muscles were light. Sirius only had a moment to inspect them and wonder before they let go of their opponent’s hands and the match began.

Remus was good, he could see at once. He dove into the moves without hesitation. He seemed to know what Pierce would do next and he was fast, his movements smooth and agile. But Pierce was also all of these things, and Pierce fought angry.

At first it was almost like the two of them were just staring each other down. Remus would jab and punch and Pierce would jab and punch him back. Then Pierce got in closer to Remus and was trying to knee him in the stomach. Remus bent over, his elbows covering his gut and his fists shielding his face, then pulled back, sweeping Pierce’s foot so the man was on his back. Remus bent over and pummelled Pierce with his fists, while Pierce struggled to raise himself up. Giving that up, Pierce launched his feet up to strike Remus in the stomach, but Remus managed to move away fast enough to avoid him. Pierce used the moment to lift himself back up, and then the two of them were punching once more, moving closer and further like a dance between devils on a bed of hot coals.

Sirius found his breath bated as he watched. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, reminded of the way Remus had fought the night before. He hadn’t realized this was how he knew how to fight the way he did. There was a dark beauty in Remus on that stage, and it scared him. He had thought he knew Remus just days before, but now it was clear to him that he knew nothing about Remus at all.

Remus ducked from a blow Pierce threw to his head and hit him in the jaw on his way up. It landed. Pierce’s head was flung backwards by the blow. Remus struck him again from the side, and just like that Pierce was out. In an instant. Just like that. The crowd was screaming. Sirius couldn’t hear anything over the roar except for the referee “And that was a knockout punch from Remus Lupin, making him the winner of this match-”

Barry, next to him, was hooting and hollering and waving his fist in the air. “Two knockouts in a row!” he yelled into Sirius’s ear. Sirius let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Remus had won. He wasn’t the one blacked out on the stage. He was okay.

When it settled again Barry explained that it was a fight to the finish. The winners fight the next match until they lose. Each tournament has two champions: the werewolf who fought the most fights, and the last one standing. If it was the same fighter then the prize was “bloody decent, if you ask me.”

The next match was won much more slowly. There were three rounds and in the end Remus won by hitting his opponent more times than she hit him. Barry was disappointed. “Aw, look at her. She keeps dodging him. How’re we supposed to see a proper fight if she’s dodging him like that the whole time?” To Sirius it looked as though Remus wasn’t fighting this one hard at all. The girl he fought looked terrified and she twitched with his every movement. She was young, too, maybe only thirteen or fourteen. Sirius suspected that it was out of sympathy that Remus went so gently.

The two women he fought after the small one were a different matter, however. Both were older and strong. Their hits landed and they hit hard. Sirius knew he wouldn’t have won matches against either of them, but somehow Remus did. He won those matches and the ones that followed. He seemed surprisingly fresh considering the day they’d had, but sweat dripped like a rainfall from his skin as the fights went on. With each match the cheering only grew more frantic and loud. They screamed and they chanted Remus’s name. Remus was so absorbed in each fight that he did not seem to hear anything at all.

“He’s so good,” Sirius marvelled to Barry after Remus landed a hit.

“Good? He’s brilliant, the bugger. I’ve seen him do this before.” He gestured to Sirius conspiratorially, “He never went to school. Not even muggle school like the rest of them do, did you know? Instead he trained and fought here in London. Paid off, hasn’t it?”

Sirius watched Remus fight, his insides feeling cold, tightly gripping the now nearly empty beer. When they had first met Remus had been stained with sweat. He had wondered where it had all come from; British summers were never that warm. He hadn’t said anything, but he had made sure he had met the scarred, sweaty stranger again.

Of course, Remus wasn’t innocent. He fought and he had collected enough scars by doing so to cover a small tapestry. He lied to his mother and he hated his dead father. He was stubborn and naive and secretive. He was a werewolf and a monster and there was nothing he could ever do to make himself human. Or a wizard. He was less than a wizard, less than human. He was a creature that howled and he would never see the shape of the full moon. His father was even a Death Eater. He’d never had a chance.

But still, Sirius stayed, although he couldn’t say why. He took another drink from his beer and let the cool liquid warm his throat. With each match he felt himself growing quieter. When the last match began Sirius realized that he had watched the last three matches without uttering a sound. He wondered if Remus was getting tired. As he swept his last opponent to the floor, flipped him over by his arm and punched him in the jaw to the screams of the crowd, Sirius wondered if he was happy that he had won.

Remus walked off the stage and the crowds filtered out of the arena, yelling and chattering as they stumbled up the steps that led to the pub. Sirius stayed, eying the small door Remus had used to leave. Albert’s promise to fetch him forgotten, he stood up in his seat, set down his beer and began down the steps instead of up. He wasn’t sure of what he would say to Remus when he met him beyond that door, but he knew he couldn’t say nothing.

Sirius walked around the stage to the small door. Two guards stood on either side, eyeing him as he approached. “Wrong door, kid,” one said.

“I’m here to see Remus Lupin,” Sirius said more confidently than he felt.

“How d’you know Lupin?” the one to his right asked.

“He’s my friend,” Sirius replied, keeping a straight face. The two guards traded looks until one nodded at the other slowly and left.

“Go ahead,” said the first guard. Sirius glanced at the guard who was walking away. His pace was quick; he didn’t seem to be wasting any time. He frowned, glancing at the guard who still waited by the door.

“Thanks,” Sirius said, stepping past him. “Which way do I go?” he asked, unsure of whether he ought to trust the guard’s reply.

“Forward, take the first turn left.”

“Okay,” Sirius said. He followed the guard’s instructions, occasionally turning his head mid-stride to check if the guard was still there. He was, and each time he turned Sirius found him looking right back. He calmed slightly after his left turn. The guard’s directions had been right after all; Sirius found himself greeted by the musty smell of sweat that marked a change room.

The door was open, so he walked inside without guilt. The room was empty now except for the lockers separating the room into two and the benches that lay between them. For a moment he worried that Remus had already left.

Once inside Sirius raised his eyebrows at the smell. It was even stronger now. He had never before fully realized the benefit of windows in sweaty places.

Hearing footsteps, Sirius froze. Remembering the two large guards he hid behind a row of lockers. From what he had seen so far of this place there wasn’t a person here he wanted to find him intruding where he didn’t belong.

Sirius could hear two sets of footsteps on the other side of the lockers. Sirius guessed that one of them had just come out of the shower; he could hear bare feet padding along damply on the linoleum. “They liked you,” one said. Whoever it was sounded relatively young and middle-class, judging from his accent.

“So now what? Are they happy with me, then?” It was Remus speaking, just a few yards away. The thought made him ache, even though just moments before he had been looking for angry words to yell.

“Luckily for you they are. They want you to come with them as soon as you can. I said now was fine.”

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” Remus said.

The other man must have patted Remus on the back because Sirius heard a slapping sound. “You’ve got it. You don’t shit around with these people. You do that and you fuck with me. You fuck with me, and I fuck with you. That’s the way it is, and I can think of at least four people who won’t survive me fucking with you, so don’t shit around and we’ll both get what we want.”

“I won’t,” Remus replied.

“Good. Now just don’t try anything stupid like some last minute piece of shit hero thing.”

“I never do,” Remus said dryly.

The other man snorted, “So what was that thing with your father? That was you, trying to make a move, change your life, whatever. So you killed the bastard and now you’ve got me instead.”

“I was trying to run. He wasn’t supposed to die,” Remus replied stiffly. Sirius felt himself grow cold. He wanted to be sick. ‘I know what you did,’ the letter had said. All that chasing, and Remus must have known all along.

“You should tell him that when you meet him in Hell,” the other man joked.

“It was an accident,” Remus said.

“Whatever you say, Lupin. We all know you’ve wanted him dead for a long time. Even I think it’s a piece of shit thing to do to kill your own father. Just don’t try that shit with me. I’m no old man and I don’t trust you to protect my little toe,” the other man said, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum as he walked away. A moment later, another set of feet followed, Remus’s feet, walking with the heaviness of a man on death row.

Sirius did not move. He did not think he could. He was in shock.

In the distance a shower turned on, and Sirius rested against the locker. Part of him wanted to follow Remus out, but another part of him was too afraid. He wasn’t used to fear, and having that fear scared him even more. Delicately, he shut his eyes, willing himself to stop his heart from beating like this, that was all, and then he would leave the same way he came.

Sirius didn’t notice the girl at all until her silent fingers reached into his pocket and grabbed his wand. “You should pay more attention to this,” she said, sneering.

The girl who had stolen his wand was tall with blonde hair, her cheekbone marked with a fresh bruise. She held his wand between two hands, as though ready to break it. “Give it here,” Sirius said, pushing Remus from his mind and reaching for his wand.

“Is your name Sirius Black?” she asked, holding it out of his reach.

Sirius took a step forward, and she took a step back. Sirius noticed that although she was slim, she wasn’t slim in the soft way that many girls were slim. Her arms were all muscle.

“Give me my wand, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,” Sirius said. He noticed that she carried no wand of her own. She was one of the werewolves here, then.

The girl looked him over, assessing him for something, though he didn’t know what. Her eyes finally landed on his feet. For a moment her lips curved into a smile and then she nodded, just barely. Thinking she planned to return his wand, Sirius reached out his hand.

Instead he felt two knees dig into his back as he was forced face-first to the floor. Someone, maybe the man who had jumped him, tied his hands behind his back with thick rope. Sirius struggled to move his head to the side. His whole face hurt and something was bleeding. The knees were still on his back and he needed to breathe.

“Please -” he choked, his lungs searching for air, “I didn’t… do anything.”

There were three of them including the girl, he saw. One was on his back, and the other two were holding him down and tying him up. Although he couldn’t see either of the men’s faces, he recognized the clothes they wore. The guards. The guard who had left had gone to get the girl.

The girl came with a cloth and pinched his nose, holding his head back, until he had to open his mouth to breathe. She stuffed the cloth in his mouth and tied another around his head. Sirius tried to scream, but the gag ensured his screams were muffled.

She knelt to the floor beside his face and pulled his hair so hard that his head lifted from the floor, “Yes you did. You’re a blood traitor,” she growled, pulling at his hair until his ear was by her mouth, “And you know what else?” she whispered in tones so hushed he could barely hear her over the sounds of his own laboured breaths, “You don’t deserve Remus Lupin.” Scrunching her fingers into his hair, she slammed his head into the linoleum.

Something was bleeding. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut, panting. His cheeks were wet with blood. It took him a few moments to notice that she was no longer holding onto his head, and then everything lurched as one of the two men lifted him over his shoulder.

Sirius squirmed in his captor’s grip, trying to escape his hold, but the other man was stronger than him by far. “Don’t make me knock ye out,” his captor grumbled, shifting his grip. “You don’t have to remember yer trip home.”

Home? Sirius thought. He couldn’t go home, not to the Black Mansion. Not to 12 Grimmauld Place. Not to his mother and father and the screaming -

“I don’ think he likes that,” the man walking to his side laughed, “That’s one thing we have in common, lad. I don’t get on too well with my parents either.” Sirius tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the gag.

“Simon, didn’t your parents try and kill you?” the girl asked calmly from the front. Her bell bottoms swished between her ankles when she walked.

Simon patted Sirius on the leg in mock sympathy, “Like I said, we’ve got lots in common.”


	14. Unwilling Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius find themselves unwilling guests of a certain famous family.

**CHAPTER 14**

 

All Sirius knew as he was carried over the shoulder of some werewolf thug through the Flu network was that he was being taken up stairs. He had considered jolting to topple the werewolf over, but changed his mind when he considered the fall down, and that his hands would still be tied, his mouth gagged, and his eyes blindfolded. Somehow, he needed to get his wand back from that blonde-haired bitch.

After several flights, his carrier paused on a small landing. If they had told the truth and they had really brought Sirius back to 12 Grimmauld Place, then Sirius thought they might be on the floor with the small sitting room. His parents often greeted guests here while one or the other listened in from their bedroom. There was nothing in the house that was said that his mother didn’t somehow hear, although somehow it had taken him almost a month of snogging that muggle boy for her to — loudly — take notice.

A door opened and Sirius was lowered onto a hard, wooden chair. He could somehow sense that they were not alone, that the room was not empty. “Take off the blindfold,” said a cold voice that crackled with whispery threads. “The gag may go, too,” it continued, “but keep the handcuffs.”

Sirius sat uncomfortably on his hands as big, rough fingers snatched the gag from his mouth. “I love surprises,” said Sirius once he was again able to speak. “I’ve always wanted a pony.” The fingers felt at the tie behind his head to release the blindfold.

Sirius was not alone. In the room was a man on a chair, a woman and a man who stood beside him, the three werewolves who had managed to pin him down and bring him here, and his parents. His father was white-faced and clutching at his hands, while his mother stood still, her mouth set in determination.

“What a refreshing sense of humour your son has, Walburga,” said the man in the chair. His age was hard to place, but he was unmistakably handsome. The man and woman beside him both covered their faces with hoods, but this man’s hood hung behind his neck. In that moment, he looked to Sirius almost kindly.

“I am glad you are able to find it refreshing, my Lord,” his mother replied. “We have always found it rather difficult.”

“What do you want from me?” Sirius asked.

“He’s to the point. Another virtue,” said the man in the chair mildly.

“I’m a bloody paragon of virtue, I get it. If you’re going to keep talking at me like this then do something useful and give me back my wand,” Sirius snapped. Sirius’s father took that moment to glance anxiously at the man in the chair. Sirius squeezed shut his eyes and shook his head mildly to clear the dull ache in his head, then blinked rapidly. The man in the chair continued to sit, sitting while all the others stood, and Sirius couldn’t help but wonder who he was. The cold stone in his stomach told him that he knew, but the possibility seemed ridiculous. Here? At 12 Grimmauld Place? How much had changed since he had left?

Red-faced, his mother began, “You should feel lucky that the Dark Lord has chosen to honour you with a second chance, after what you’ve done,” but Voldemort silenced her with a movement of his fingers.

“I have been told much about you, Mr. Black. About your good grades, your success on the Quidditch team, your friends – I believe their names were James Potter, Peter Pettigrew and one of our very own… a Mr. Remus Lupin?”

His mother’s eyes narrowed at the name. Sirius wondered if Regulus had mentioned him to her. He certainly hadn’t. “Remus Lupin is not my friend,” he said, boldly adding, “He’s a werewolf.”

If he had expected some sort of expression of horror, Sirius was mistaken. Voldemort looked on with little reaction. He had known. Sirius swallowed the spare saliva at the back of his throat. Anyone could have told Voldemort of his friendships with James and Peter. Fewer people knew of his relationship with Remus.

“What does it matter who my friends are?” Sirius asked, less sure of himself now.

“It matters everything,” his mother replied, too quickly. Voldemort sent her a long, drawling look, like the gaze of an unhinged cat on a nearby bird. Walburga, her focus fixed on her bound eldest son, saw nothing.

Tapping long, spindly fingers against the arm of his chair, Voldemort finally answered, “Our loyalties can be our greatest strengths, or our greatest weaknesses. If I’m not mistaken, this has been a sore lesson for your… friend Remus as well.” Sirius felt sick at the pause in his sentence. Only Regulus knew the extent of his relationship with Remus. Regulus, and now Lord Voldemort.

“What do you mean, a sore lesson?” Sirius asked.

“A better question to ask,” Voldemort continued, “is why have I brought you here today?”

“What do you mean?” Sirius repeated, leaning forward in his chair, struggling against the chafing cuffs.

The Dark Lord glanced at the blonde girl by Sirius’s side, his expression knowing. “Where is Mr. Black’s friend Mr. Lupin, Alyssa?”

The girl beside him, tall, blond and wiry, did not lift her eyes from the floor as she spoke, “He’s with Kent.” Her eyes flashed up hesitantly, then fell back to the floor at Voldemort’s minute nod.

The name was unfamiliar, but she spoke the word as though it should mean something to him. Sirius wondered if Kent was Remus’s lover, and something twisted in his chest that he hadn’t even known was there.

“Who?” Sirius asked. His voice crinkled with dry powder as he slackened against his bonds.

Again, Alyssa glanced at Voldemort before she answered, “Our dog trainer. Our — our second master. Our master after the Dark Lord,” she stuttered, her eyes darting like a light-drawn moth to Voldemort’s face.

“What?” Sirius asked just as he heard some sputtering from his mother. No doubt his father had lightly grasped her hand between his two palms to silence her, because her sputtering speech stopped.

The way Alyssa looked at him then, as though confronted by a confusing faraway light, made a cold creep into Sirius’s summer-touched limbs. “What did you think you were watching at the dog fights? Where do you think we learned to do what we do? Don’t you know anything?”

Sirius looked into Alyssa’s eyes for a heartbeat too long, her question a reverberating shock. He hadn’t known Remus at all.

As his mother stood there with interlocked palms and tense, rigid fingers gone white where skin pressed upon skin, Sirius suddenly found himself caught in a prism of fettered sight. The breath from her lungs was so much more present in the hot air when he knew that he might never see her again. He felt his skin pale, he felt cold sweat dampen his brow. Sirius turned away from the unseeing gaze of his only mother and looked as coolly as he could at Voldemort, who seemed to see too much.

“Fine. I’ll ask you. What do you want from me?”

Voldemort smiled and asked, “How much do you know about the Potters, Mr. Black?” Sirius felt his mouth go dry. He knew far too much about the Potters, but most of all he knew that they were all he had.

“Nothing,” he replied gruffly.

“I thought you might say that,” Voldemort said, his long fingers tapping against the arms of his chair. After a moment he smiled, leaving Sirius wondering what it was that had caused those lips to curl. “Your parents have been very accommodating, Mr. Black, but even I have limits.” Sirius glanced at where his mother stood, her lips pursed. His father seemed to fade behind her, her shadow in every sense of the word.

“You still haven’t told me what you want,” said Sirius gruffly, his fists clenching behind his back.

Voldemort stood from his chair and strode to mere feet from where Sirius stood. “I want you to make a choice. Your life, or theirs?”

“You want me to kill the Potters? You’re joking,” Sirius said, unthinking. Then Voldemort raised his wand to rest at Sirius’s bare throat. The smooth wood poked against his skin. It seemed unreal, to be standing here with the bane of the wizarding world, but the wand at his throat reminded him of just how real it was. Death had reached out his hand.

His voice caught. “You want me to help you kill the Potters,” he repeated.

Voldemort nodded, “They are blood traitors, every one.”

“That’s easy then,” he said. “Kill me instead.”

Voldemort sighed, lowering his wand and stepping back. “You’re all very brave to start with, you know. But think of this, Mr. Black. You’re seventeen now. Next August you’ll be graduating from Hogwarts, and then what? What are you planning for yourself? Your parents say you’ve run away—”

“Been kicked out more like,” Sirius muttered under his breath, but Voldemort continued.

“— and that they won’t be giving you any help, financial or otherwise. Are you just planning to live with the Potters forever? I doubt even they are that obliging. The Potters and their ilk are part of a failing class, surely you can see that now, Mr. Black? By tomorrow there will be a Ministry of Magic worthy of me and my followers. This is the dawning of a new era, an era where pure bloods are no longer forced to eke out an unworthy existence. Tomorrow begins today. Surely you see that you are on the losing side.”

Sirius hadn’t been aware of being on any side.

“Son, it’s in your best interest. That’s all we want for you, really,” Sirius’s father blurted. Sirius glanced to the corner where he stood. His mother was glaring, and Orion cowed.

“Your father is right,” said Voldemort, “And it’s for them that I even make you this offer. Otherwise I would have killed you already… but you are a pureblood, and so I’m giving you a chance. Pick the winning side, Mr. Black.”

“I already have,” Sirius replied, but Voldemort shook his head.

“No, Mr. Black, you haven’t. Pick the winning side.” He turned to Alyssa and her two companions. “Will you three accompany Mr. Black to his room? He isn’t to be let out of your sight.” To Sirius he said, “For now, I will be easy with you. I’ll give you until tomorrow evening to make your decision. Until then, feel free to think on what’s more important to you: your life and your family, or the Potters.”

“If you were really planning on being easy on me you'd give me my wand,” said Sirius.

“Only good boys get presents,” said Voldemort snidely. “Take him to his room.”

Sirius was shoved upwards and muscled out of the room. His parents watched him silently. Only his father looked concerned. His mother looked more like she wanted to tell him that she’d told him so. She had, but Sirius hadn’t believed her. Even now with his hands behind his back and his feet marching up his childhood steps he found it hard to believe this was happening. It had all been a trap. He wondered, had Remus known? And who had written that note?

His bedroom door glowed milky blue with magic. One of the werewolves had his arms tightly holding Sirius’s so they stuck still behind his back. “Are we going to go in or what?” Sirius asked. Alyssa, standing beside him with her arms folded over her chest, just sighed and rolled her eyes.

A moment later a cloaked wizard came up behind them to perform the spell that would open his door. “Don’t think about escaping,” Alyssa said, “He’s the only one that can open this door. If you or I try to open the door without him then we only have twenty-four hours to live.”

“I should have thought of that kind of security before I left,” said Sirius.

“Do you have a quip for everything?” Alyssa asked once the door was open. At the nod of her head, Sirius went in first and Alyssa followed him. At some point since he had left someone had installed iron bars in his windows, he noticed. The four corners of the room were all glowing with magic.

“You guys have really gone all out,” he noted, ignoring her earlier comment. When she didn’t reply he took a moment to look at everything he’d left behind. Posters of half-naked girls (a classic diversion from the truth) and motorbikes. Kreacher had tidied his drawers and made his bed. It had been a mess when he had left home in the middle of the day. That at least was good. He hadn’t changed his clothes in two days and his pack had been lost somewhere on his way here. Even so, he couldn’t call it home. It no longer felt like home.

The door shut behind them, leaving just him and Alyssa alone in the room. The other two werewolves were outside standing guard. Sirius stood staring at his bedroom. The world around him felt warped and out of place. In the quiet he could feel a panic setting in, starting just below his lungs. He couldn’t sit here in this room like this, surrounded only by his thoughts.

Alyssa, his guard, stood stoically by the door with her hands together behind her back. She stared ahead, pointedly not looking at him even though there was little else in his room to see. In that brief moment to settle the panic, Sirius made a choice.

“What was your name again? Alyssa, was it?” Sirius asked and moved to settle on his spartan bed.

“Yes,” she said.

“What’s Remus to you? Do you know him or something?” he asked. At Remus’s name, her lips tightened and she shifted her gaze to his face.

“He really does deserve better than you,” she repeated, reminding him of what she’d said before.

“So you do know him.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. After a moment she added, “We grew up together.” Sirius stared at her dumbly. Alyssa. He couldn’t believe it hadn’t clicked when he’d first heard her name or when she’d pushed him to the ground with Remus’s name on her lips. This was Remus’s Alyssa, the girl he’d once dated.

“You said our trainer — is that how you met?” he asked.

“I would really rather not talk to you, blood traitor.”

He was piecing the story together now, though, and once the thoughts began connecting in his mind he found it hard to stop, “You met in the, the what’s it? The dog pits. You fell in love with him, you dated, and now that he’s back around you’re trying to get him back or something. Maybe that’s why you said that I deserve better than him, because you think he deserves you and not me. You’re jealous. Is that why I’m back at my parent’s house waiting to die? Because some girl is jealous of my boyfriend?” Alyssa flushed. Sirius guessed that he’d gotten at least some of it right.

“You’re out of line, blood traitor.”

“What are you going to do to me though? You don’t even have magic. And I bet you they don’t want you beating me up, at least not until tomorrow.”

“You can test me if you like,” she said with a smile as sunny as it was fake.

Sirius returned her smile with one to match, “Sorry, I don’t swing that way, but I appreciate the offer.” Her smile dropped, replaced with an empty, bored sort of look.

“You don’t read much, do you?” she asked, looking at Sirius’s somewhat pitiful bookshelf. On it were schoolbooks almost exclusively.

“You seem disappointed,” Sirius said, leaning back on the bed.

“I was hoping you’d stop talking,” she replied wistfully. Sirius barked a laugh. He was almost enjoying this.

“What if we were friends? Let’s say I forgave you my headache and my bruises, and we called ourselves friends? A friend of Remus’s is a friend of mine.”

But at his name her expression became decidedly darker. “You’re no friend to Remus. Don’t lie to yourself.” She was shaking her head. She was right. Sirius shrugged. Somehow that made him lose interest in the conversation. He let himself fall onto his bed. It was late now, long past midnight. If he closed his eyes he knew he would sleep, so he forced himself to get up and change into his pyjamas while Alyssa looked on with folded arms.

“Can I get a toothbrush?” he asked.

“Do you even care?” Alyssa asked.

“About what?” he replied dumbly, sensing that her fervour wasn’t directed towards his dental hygiene.

“About Remus! I saw what you did to him!” she said stepping forward, her voice getting louder. Sirius ground down on his jaw. He knew what she meant now. “He showed me,” she presented her unblemished forearm. “He has a scar.”

“I see,” said Sirius quietly.

Alyssa shook her head, eyes narrowed at him. “It’s people like you who keep us like this. We’re thugs because that’s all you think we can be, and Remus… he’s different, but because of people like you he doesn’t even have a chance.” She turned her shaking head, not even able to look at him any longer.

Sirius felt naked in his striped pyjamas. She was clothed and he was dressed for bed, and she was watching him with eyes that gouged. He wasn’t sure he felt safe falling asleep while she was watching so he delayed his drop into his bed. “People like me. You make me sound like Voldemort.”

“You should know better than to speak so easily of the Dark Lord in this house. No, you’re worse than him for us. You think we’re bad guys, but the Dark Lord takes us in. You people just cast us out. If it weren’t for people like you then maybe Remus would be at Hogwarts. And I…” she shook her head as if banishing the thought. “There’s no place for us in your world.”

“Werewolves kill people,” Sirius said. He pulled one of his books from his bookshelf. A book from his class on the _Defence Against the Dark Arts._ Lingering by the bookshelf he read, “‘Werewolves are the most feared among the dark species. Their fame has spread so widely that even muggle societies fear the monthly beast. On average, werewolves kill over sixty-five people per year in Britain alone.’ Is that my cue to invite you people to dinner?”

“If you only knew… the things I’ve done, the things Remus has done. Werewolves can’t control ourselves, and there’s nowhere we can go to get help. It’s not like we wanted this… I didn’t even know there was magic before I was bitten. Remus’s parents almost left him to die. It’s not a coincidence that Althea is seven years younger than him. We just want to live normal lives, most of us. That’s all we want. But people like you won’t let us.” She sighed, resting her hand on her forehead. Her avoidance of his gaze gave Sirius the time he needed to slip a piece of paper and a quill from the bookshelf into the pages of his book. “I don’t know why I bother.” She jutted her chin towards Sirius’s bed. “Just go to sleep, Black.”

Obedient for one of the first times in his life, Sirius climbed under his covers, feeling surprisingly ready to sleep. “I heard Remus say he killed his father. Before you go defending him.”

Alyssa nodded slowly. “I was afraid of that.” In his twin bed, Sirius scooted so that the wall was against his back and his knees propped up _Defence Against the Dark Arts._ “What are you doing?” Alyssa asked when he began scribbling in his book with his pen.

“Taking notes,” Sirius said, “I should know what I’m up against, shouldn’t I?”

“It’s not us you’re up against,” said Alyssa, clearly irritated, but she was hardly paying attention to him anymore. Sirius supposed that she had taken him for a silly sort of person, and that suited him. Resting on the page that she couldn’t see was a letter. With overuse it had become stained so that now it was a sort of beige colour. James’s last message to Sirius, unreceived, was still there on the page Sirius had forgotten in his room. Without his wand, Sirius couldn’t wipe it away. In the space still remaining on the page he wrote in black ink, but when it reached the identical letter that James kept in his room, it would show up on the page in a dark blue.

When Sirius’s pen stopped scratching he closed the book with the paper inside. James was too absent to be relied upon for a last resort. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep, remembering the layout of his home with the precision of a prisoner. Somewhere in here, some way, was an escape. Inside he was only sure of the presence of four people: his werewolf keeper, his mother, his father, potentially his brother, and Remus. Outside a muggle car honked. Downstairs a door slammed. Inside Sirius’s small prison everyone was silent.

**~*~**

 

Remus hadn’t been taken to You-Know-Who right away. Instead, he had met with some men outside of the pub who had thumped his back and told him how wonderful he was, all while Kent looked on beaming. Both he and Kent were whisked away to some London mansion hidden by spells so that when they stood outside they couldn’t even see that there was a building. Kent had gone elsewhere after they had arrived while Remus sat with some of the others in the downstairs living room that seemed to be serving as a barracks.

“Pup,” said a werewolf Remus recognized from earlier, “You’re wanted.”

Remus tried not to show his frown, “By who?” he asked.

“The big boss himself. Seems like Kent’s got a job for you tonight.”

“Tonight?” Remus asked. He wasn’t as tired from tonight as he might have been were he only human, but he was tired nonetheless. “What does he want from me?”

The werewolf shrugged. “There are a couple of us up there. In the dining hall.”

“Thanks,” Remus said, not meaning it.

When he pressed open the door to the dining hall, he found more werewolves in the room than the silence he had heard before entering would have suggested. Three men and two women stood in a corner space at attention to Kent, who was the only one of them who sat. Kent sipped a cup of tea, eying the werewolves in front of him with the characteristic sharpness that kept them constantly uneasy. Unaided by helpful directives, Remus joined the others by the wall.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Kent said. “We’ll be going to the dead Minister of Magic’s house. We need his wife in line. Kids too, or else this won’t work.”

Kent was greeted by silence. His wand was beside him; an unvoiced threat. Remus would be the last of them to question just what Kent could do — he had been a child in Kent’s boxing ring for too long not to know — but he felt suddenly sick as he imagined what Kent would ask of him.

“If I tell you to jump, you jump. No questions, no whining. This isn’t the time to argue.” Kent paused, tapping his fingers on the hardwood. “You’re very lucky, all of you. This is your chance to show these guys what you’re worth.” He looked at Remus while he spoke.

Kent stood and leaned forward on his table-supported hands. “Like I said, don’t fuck this up,” he said, and left the room. Remus was the first to move from his position while the others glanced at each other, unsure of how to react. When they saw Remus lead, the pack instinctively followed.

Remus was no leader. That was Sirius, that was James, that was even Kent. He followed, and he followed, and he followed. It was under the radar that he wanted to fly, not over. Leadership seemed mad when survival was such a fleeting comfort. But today, his many years of following Kent lead the other wolves to follow him.

Kent paused upstairs by a locked door. No hushed voices spilled from the wood, and Remus knew the absence he was listening to was made of magic. Kent knocked on the door, and Remus was sure he wasn’t the only one that smelled the wisp of perspiration at the back of Kent’s neck. Remus felt his own heartbeat rise. Kent walked wandless into boxing rings with vicious beasts, faced drunkards and the power-hungry as they placed bets, dealt with demons Remus could never face and had created half his fears. If Kent was Remus’s broker in his deal with the devil, then Remus was about to meet his Master.

There were no footsteps that warned for the opening of the door. Only the sudden turning of the knob gave them any notion of what would soon begin. A man in a hooded robe looked out at the small group of werewolves and a man, all standing to attention, but didn’t speak.

Kent shot them a fierce look and followed the man into the room. About a dozen hooded people - Remus couldn’t tell if they were men or women under their hoods, or if they were something else - sat in the room in a circle. At the far edge of the room on a raised chair sat the man who could only be the Dark Lord.

First Kent dropped to his knees and then they all followed, prostrating themselves before their lord and master as they awaited his command. Instead of words, they were greeted by a hiss.

“Look at me, each of you,” the Dark Lord said. Remus would never forget his voice, a voice that sounded like spilt darkness over a pit of fire. Each of them looked up. The Dark Lord sat cooly in his chair, glancing at each of them in turn. He stopped when he looked at Remus. “Who is that one?” he asked.

“Lupin?” asked Kent, his voice near cracking. “He’s one of my best fighters. Really gets the job done.”

“I would watch this one, if I were you,” the Dark Lord said, and Remus felt his skin crawl. Kent looked shiftily at him, from the corner of his eyes.

“Yes, yes of course…” he said, his words trailing.

When they left the room, Kent waited until they were out of hearing distance before he turned on him. “What did you do in there?”

But Remus was already shaking his head, his hands raised in surrender. “Nothing, I swear!”

Kent jabbed his finger into his chest. “You know what will happen if you try anything, Lupin.”

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why he said that,” Remus repeated quietly, knowing better than to try and match the other man. Kent looked at him like he knew he was lying, but Remus had told him the truth.

Kent paused at the landing in front of the door at the top of the stairs and glanced at his watch. “Meet back here in fifteen minutes. Get your tools, get ready, and for God’s sake, Eldric, take off that bloody bow tie.” Eldric, the older werewolf in question, flushed at the comment and immediately began yanking the neatly tied red bow from his neck.

When it was off, Kent relaxed his hand. “Good. See you all in fifteen.”

As everyone dispersed, Remus realized that he was still wearing the slacks and shirt that he had worn into the manor. He had nothing else with him and nothing to keep him from leaving except, perhaps, a trip to the bathroom. Once done with that, he headed back to the top of the stairs to wait away the minutes that remained before they left on the small landing. One by one, the group that had met earlier returned to their meeting place, some of them with knives, others with batons, and one with what looked like an axe. Kent came back carrying a pouch of tools to stun the other wizards, his wand at his side. Realistically, his wand was the only weapon any of them had that would really do them any good, but they each took something from the pouch and pretended.

“Is Alyssa coming?” Remus asked, though she hadn’t been at the earlier meeting.

Kent huffed, seeing him sideways, “Alyssa has something else to do tonight.”

“She’s watching the kid, ain’t she?” said one of the two female werewolves. She was the shorter of the two, likely about five years older than Remus, her curly brown hair coifed prettily.

“Which kid?” Remus asked.

“Blood traitor. Dark Lord’s been looking for him for ages. Alyssa managed to track him down, I hear,” an older man interjected.

“Careful, Mullen,” warned Kent, “We’re not here to gossip. We’ve got a job to do.”

“How right he is.” A man walked up to the second storey landing from the floor below, his long black robes swishing around his feet, a folded black pile of cloth under one arm. The group of wolves grew still; Remus imagined fur standing on end. The Death Eater’s hood was up, and he was followed by another two men shortly behind him. “Kent,” he continued, “I hope you’re prepared for this evening,” but Remus stood arrested by the men behind him.

Quivering and quaking like a frightened child was Regulus Black, and before him was his father. Remus had never met them. Over that summer in St. Mawes he had only seen Sirius’s family from a distance. Then, he had wished desperately to meet his lover’s loved ones, naively imagining how he would convince them to kindness, all while terrified by their stiff necks and permanent sneers. Regulus had then seemed too young to be a Death Eater. He seemed too young now.

Regulus stared desperately at his feet, stumbling a bit as he marched up the stairs.

“Ready as ever,” said Kent with bravado, sweeping his hair back with his hand. The man nodded, his lips pulled into a smirk.

“Glad to hear it. We will be accompanying you tonight to ensure that everything goes smoothly.”

Kent paused. “It’s not necessary,” he said slowly, “We’re quite capable–”

“Tonight is of utmost importance to those of us who serve the Dark Lord,” the Death Eater replied curtly.

The younger Black reached the top of the stairs and pulled his hood over his face so that all Remus could see now was the direction of his gaze.

“Serving the Dark Lord is my only concern,” said Kent.

“Hm,” said the Death Eater. He turned to Regulus and his father. “You may leave us now, Mr. Black.”

Mr. Black nodded, patting his son’s shoulder. “Necessary steps,” he said in a tone that made Remus think it was a reminder of sorts and began his walk down the stairs. The Death Eater turned to Kent, holding out a folded black pile. “You may want to cover your face,” he said.

“Yes of course,” said Kent, grabbing hungrily at the black garment. The Death Eater said nothing, just waited while Kent put the robe over his clothes. The werewolves’ faces were all bare. They had no protection from witnesses.

Regulus stood by the Death Eater, his hands clasped together and his eyes to the ground. Remus wondered if Regulus knew who he was beyond ‘that boy who’d worked a few jobs around town in St. Mawes'. He doubted Sirius had pointed him out.

The Death Eater turned and began down the stairs. Remus took a breath, and followed.


	15. The Huckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus goes on a short visit to the Huckle House for his new employer.

**CHAPTER 15**

 

Mrs. Huckle sat in her paisley green living room chair with blank eyes. Remus and the other werewolves surrounded the perimeter of the room, watching while the magic happened. Regulus and the other Death Eater each stood in front of a Huckle. Regulus stood in front of the younger Huckle, a teenaged girl who lingered as faintly as the vanishing smoke of a candle unlit by wind. The Death Eater stood in front of the Minister’s new widow. Both of them were involved in some sort of spell that had both women speaking in a half-hearted monotone. The way they spoke gave Remus chills.

The woman and her daughter had been given a task force of sorts for protection, but no task force had been able to predict the port key placed by an agent in the form of a bathroom plunger. No task force had been prepared when two Death Eaters and five werewolves had descended from the bathroom spelled to look like twice their number, spelled so that their figures shifted to make them nearly invisible. It had been a quick slaughter, and Remus had blood on his hands. Again, their figures were splayed out on the floor in a scene that looked like a manteau of sleep, but this time Remus saw what they had missed by leaving the Ministry early.

Once they were done with the Huckles the older mage who had joined Regulus went to each figure in feigned sleep and spelled them so their limbs twisted and curled and shrank. When they landed they landed with a clink as their new bodies hit the Huckle’s stone floor. Where before there had been aurors, now there were small rings, topped with bright, gleaming jewels. The older man slipped the rings on his finger and admired the difference they made there.

Mrs. Huckle and her daughter, still sitting on the chairs, blinked as they seemed to come back to consciousness. Mrs. Huckle looked around first. Now the room was empty save for a few rings and her new company. Even the blood was cleaned and gone. “Where is my husband?” was the first thing she asked.

“He’s dealing with the preparations, of course,” the older Death Eater replied.

“Of course,” she said, nodding. Her daughter looked on, wide-eyed. She had the expression of someone trying to regain herself after having taken too much of a mind-altering substance.

“What’s he preparing for?” the young Ms. Huckle asked.

“He’s got a big day at work tomorrow,” the older Death Eater said kindly. Both of the Huckles nodded this time.

“He’s a very important man,” said Mrs. Huckle.

“Oh yes, very important,” the Death Eater repeated. Remus couldn’t see Regulus’s face underneath his hood, but he was circling the room uttering spells Remus couldn’t hear.

“When is he coming home?” Mrs. Huckle asked.

“Not tonight I’m afraid,” said the Death Eater. “But I’ll stay with you in his stead. There are lots of scary people out tonight, you know.”

“Oh yes. I read about what happened at the Ministry today… so many people killed.” Her face formed a quizzical expression as if her mind was stumbling over something. “I thought… my husband? I thought he was dead… I was very sad.” Her lips turned momentarily downward at the thought, her eyes grew weary, but the Death Eater shook his head.

“No, no, not at all Mrs. Huckle. Your husband is fine. He’ll be back with you very soon. But have no fear, we’ll be here to keep you company while you wait for him to return.”

“Oh, that will be very good, very good. It would be quite lonely otherwise. Don’t you agree Margaret?”

Her daughter, presumably named Margaret, nodded blankly. Something told Remus that she wasn’t normally the type to agree with her mother normally, but her mother seemed pleased by her response.

They were then quiet for some time as early morning crept on, punctuated only by occasional stifled yawns. After some time of this the elder Death Eater pulled a small vial filled with white liquid from underneath his cape. He handed a vial to each of the werewolves standing guard. “I can’t have any of you falling asleep on me tonight,” he said, making it clear that he expected them to drink. Remus took his after a moment’s hesitation. It was the second potion (or third — he hadn’t seen any of the first round) that he’d taken for the Dark Lord tonight.

He felt it almost the moment it went down his throat. The white liquid had an effect that went to every one of his limbs and felt like a full night of sleep. Regulus was neglected in this gift, presumably because he was able to spell himself awake.

It was dawn before they were allowed to leave. Mrs. Huckle and her daughter sat in their chairs in a sort of waking sleep, nodding off and yet not dropping their heads. A silent band of Death Eaters and werewolves came right to the front door, disguised in a near transparency that still did not match James’s invisible cloak. Their words to each other were vague things that didn’t much help Remus piece together their plans. Things like "Are they finished their work?” to which the answer was yes, and “Where is our lord in this?" to which the answer was “Not yet in the centre, as is his will.”

Two of the werwolves in particular caught Remus’s eye. Somehow he hadn’t expected to see Collin and Adam in the Huckle house. They were together again, though neither sported the cuts and bruises a normal man would have bourn from the fights they’d had. Their eyes narrowed as they saw Remus but neither said a word. Instead they only glanced at each other. Remus wished he could have answered their silent question by saying that yes, it had been him and no, he wasn't on their side, but that answer had ceased to be the truth. Neither got the chance to ask questions. Neither had the right.

The werewolves were ferried back upstairs to return to where they’d come from by the portkey installed for their convenience. Once they were back in the small room in the downstairs of Number 12 Grimmauld Place where they had together touched the bathroom plunger in question the werewolves were left while the Death Eaters went to report to the Dark Lord. Regulus did not remove his hood as he left the room, but Remus caught him staring at him, not for the first time that evening. The wizards did not have time to waste watching however, and Regulus and his older companion were soon out of the small cramped room and on their way to the Dark Lord.

Once alone again, abandoned by the wizards who had called themselves their friends, the wolves continued on in the house as if nothing had happened, filtering into the kitchen for an early morning snack.

“You’ve worked up quite the appetite, I bet,” one of the men who had brought him in said, patting Remus on the back. Remus stiffened, not liking the man’s touch, even though it was friendly.

However, Remus was hungry and he ate the sandwiches with relish, secretly hoping they were poisoned. At this hour the house was still and silent except for the chatter between Kent and the other men and his own chewing. His sandwiches smelled of house elf, and the house smelled of dozens of people coming in and out. It also smelled strangely of dirt. Familiar dirt, and also, somehow, familiar people.

Soon, Remus and Kent were the last ones in the kitchen. They wouldn’t need him again until that next afternoon. “Rest up while you can,” he was told.

“As far as I know they don’t expect anything today from you,” Kent said. Remus supposed it was supposed to be some sort of thanks or congratulations. He grunted in reply.

Remus heard Alyssa’s footsteps and smelled her scent long before Kent even knew she was stepping down the stairs. “Alyssa’s coming down,” he said, flicking his eyes quickly up to Kent’s face to catch his reaction. Instead of any expression he had expected - lust, perhaps, or smugness - Kent flashed with tension, his teeth grinding together. The nape of his neck, just above his red polo shirt, was bare, and the scent of the moisture in his skin suddenly made his skin there all the more real, as though his skin hadn’t existed before Remus had caught its scent. It was vulnerable, bare, and exposed to Remus, and in Remus Kent had created a monster.

Kent was still looking at the door. Remus followed his gaze. They were both looking at her when she came in, spattered in someone else’s blood and familiar smells. When she saw them her cheeks flushed, looking between them and finally settling her gaze on Kent.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, walking to the sink. She turned on the tap and ran her bloody hands underneath the water, lathering them in soap. The blood’s smell filled the room like incense.

“Did it go as planned?” Kent asked over the hissing of the tap. Alyssa busied herself with the cleansing of her skin. “Well?” Kent asked again. She rested her hands on the sink’s edge as the water continued to run. Though her arms up to her forearms were clean now of the smattering that had covered them before, spots and smears of blood were all over her clothing.

“Mostly,” she said. She glanced at Remus, “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“In front of me, you mean,” said Remus.

Alyssa nodded mutely, turning off the tap. “Do you mind if I get changed?” she asked, “I’m filthy.”

“A shower won’t make you any more clean,” said Kent, “You can stay as you are.” Alyssa bit her lip, and for a moment Remus wondered if she might cry. But of course she didn’t. Like him, Alyssa had learned long ago not to cry when Kent was watching.

Kent looked at her meaningfully, “I’m going outside,” he said.

Alyssa did not change her point of focus, only asking, “Where?”

Kent had left the island in the centre of the kitchen, about to leave for the stairs that lead to the ground floor. “Backyard,” he said. Remus watched Alyssa follow him up the stairs with her eyes, unmoving.

“Where were you?” Remus asked.

Alyssa shot him a look, tearing her attention away from the stairs. “It’s none of your business,” she said.

“Funny what stops being my business when you start fucking him,” Remus said dryly.

Now she turned, her newly cleaned hands dripping on the floorboards, “You don’t own me and neither does he. In case you’ve forgotten, you were the one that didn’t want me,” she hissed.

“And him?” Remus replied.

“He may think I belong to him, but I don’t. I never have,” her face flushed in anger, she turned around again, busying herself with drying her hands on rags that hung over the tap. “Sleeping with someone doesn’t make you theirs,” she continued.

“Kent thinks it does,” said Remus.

Alyssa walked to the pantry, shoving open its door. “Kent is an asshole,” she said, stepping in to rummage for food.

“Why are you with him, then?” Remus asked, hoping it didn’t show on his face that it was the question he had been aching to ask since the moment Kent had gestured at her in his office.

When Alyssa emerged from the pantry her hands were empty. If she had taken any food, it was hidden in one of her pockets. Shutting the door she picked up an apple from the island counter. “Don’t be naive, Remus. Why do you think?”

Remus paused, “I want to hear it from you,” he said.

Alyssa contemplated the apple before she took a bite from its skin with her blood-reddened lips. “Power,” she said, the apple’s juices filling her cheeks. “What I want he gives me, and what he wants I give him.” She put the apple down and licked the juice from her fingers. “Then,” she continued, “one day, I’m going to kill him.”

Remus stared openly. After so many years of wishing her plan tasted almost too sweet. “How?” he croaked. He was certain she could hear the blood pounding in his throat. She had heard as well as he that he hadn’t asked why or protested the wrongness of the deed. Instead, he had asked her how.

Alyssa put the apple down and showed him her palms, “I’m going to do it the way he taught me to; with my hands.” She picked up the apple again and took another bite. “I’ll finally be working for me.” She looked up at him, her eyes too casual to be truly nonchalant. “We could work together. It would be the two of us at the head of the Dark Lord’s pack - werewolves. Kent isn’t a werewolf, he doesn’t deserve the power he has.”

“I don’t-” he began, but she shook her head, setting her half-eaten apple down upon the counter-top.

“Just think about it,” she said, heading for the stairs, “I have to go join Kent in the back now; he’ll be wondering where I am. I’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well,” she said, smiling at him before ascending the stairs.

After she left Remus stood still in the kitchen, leaning on the island counter, his hands clasped together. She offered a tempting proposal, one that left him lingering. A tremulous worry wondered whether the Dark Lord would react kindly to Kent’s death, but perhaps the Dark Lord’s unhappiness would grant him the escape he so desperately wanted. He wondered if these were the heavy doors presented by adulthood: betrayal, death, or integrity lost.

Despite the break of dawn Remus was not yet tired. The white potion had done its job and left him energized. So while the other werewolves - most of whom he recognized from the fights - had petered into the basement to curl around each other like the wolves with whom they shared blood, Remus sat in the kitchen staring at his hands.

It was some time before the morning’s first risers came down to the kitchen. Followed shortly by his master was the house elf, Kreacher, that Remus had heard so much about. He was wrinkled and dour-faced with the composure of the Dark Lord himself. Behind him was Regulus Black, no longer costumed in Death Eater’s robes. He looked so young wearing his daytime robes. His cheeks were soft and his frame slight. He was so obviously a child.

Seeing Remus in the kitchen, Regulus stopped. “You’re Remus, aren't you?” he asked. The house elf looked at his master, surprised.

“I am,” said Remus. Sirius’s brother looked just like him, though his eyes were darker in hue and his features somehow lacked his brother’s effortless charm.

“Are you the one who brought him here?” Regulus asked. He folded his arms in front of his chest in an attempt to feign manhood’s nonchalance.

“Brought who?” asked Remus.

Regulus scanned Remus’s face for a moment as if looking for lies. "So it wasn’t. Then why are you here? Are you really a werewolf?” The house elf frowned up at the exchange. “Kreacher, you mustn’t repeat this to mother,” Regulus added.

“We both stood through the night shift. I don't know what else I’d be,” said Remus. He spoke though he knew he shouldn’t because Regulus’s familiar features were endlessly tempting for him. Speaking to him felt almost like speaking to Sirius, and Remus already missed nothing more than speaking to Sirius.

“He always did like to test mother,” said Regulus.

“We all like to test our parents sometimes,” said Remus. “What do you mean by all this? Is there something you want to say?”

Regulus’s hands lowered to knot themselves together at his waist. “You don’t know he’s here, do you? You don’t know he was captured last night? They said he was watching a dog fight in some pub.”

Remus felt cold shroud him as Regulus spoke. Sirius wasn’t supposed to be here. Sirius was supposed to be in some separate world with his sister and with his mother and with James, the same world that James had made him promise to leave behind. And a dog fight — Sirius couldn’t have been watching him, could he?

Regulus was shaking his head. “You never deserved my brother. I should have known. All you people ever want is what we have.”

“I don’t want anything from Sirius,” Remus said back.

“So, tell me. Were you with them the whole time? Scoping out my brother, looking to bring down my family’s name? Shame the Blacks, cut us down with the filth of my brother?”

“Of course not,” said Remus. Regulus looked thoughtful.

Carefully, his voice measured, Remus asked “Why do we want him? He’s a kid. He hasn’t done anything.”

“‘Toujours pur.’ Have you heard that before? It's our family motto. It means ‘Always pure.” Do you know how we stay that way, wolf? We eliminate the dirt.”

“Sirius isn’t dirt,” Remus said quietly, thinking of his rough hands on soft skin and Sirius’s impish laughter. Far from dirt, he was heaven sent.

Barely fourteen, small, and bright, Regulus was far too readily handing out his innocence to the highest bidder. He frowned. “Do you know where that friend of his is? That one called Potter?"

"I don't know," said Remus.

"What about Pettigrew? Where is he in all of this?"

"Peter? Their friend? I don't know. Spain? Portugal? Somewhere with his aunt or mother or something. Why?"

Regulus's mouth fell into a downwards line, "Because you three are the only ones I can count on to love him enough to save him."

“Save him from what?” Remus asked.

Regulus looked at his house elf again, and then up at the stairs. Neither boy had moved at all during their conversation. “In the end it’s what he’s always up against. Sirius needs saving from himself.”

“Kreacher thinks Mistress would not like this talk.” The small house elf folded his arms, glaring warily at Remus. Regulus sighed from where he stood in front of the doorway.

“Mother understands the importance of our family’s honour, Kreacher. What I’m suggesting is that Remus here convinces my brother to do the right thing.” The house elf did not seem satisfied, instead glaring down his long nose at them both. Regulus rolled his eyes. “Kreacher, make me breakfast. I want eggs and toast.”

Remus slipped from his chair. “What is this right thing, exactly?” he asked.

“The Dark Lord has offered my brother the chance to become one of us. The alternative is obvious — the Dark Lord plans to kill him if he doesn’t comply, but it would be such a stain, to have a blood traitor in our family. He mustn’t be allowed to let himself be killed, he must join our ranks. It’s the only thing,” said Regulus. “You just might be able to convince him. Just know that if he doesn’t take this chance he's been given the Dark Lord will have no problem getting rid of him tonight, and none of us will be able to do anything about it.”

For someone as young as he was, Regulus spoke with the affected nonchalance of nobility, but Remus suddenly saw the faint lines of bags under his eyes and the nails on his fingers marked ragged by teeth. Regulus was worried, and that worried Remus. Sirius was in this house and Sirius might die today.

“Where is he?" Remus asked.

“Young master…” Kreacher said in warning.

“I said make me breakfast. Now,” said Regulus. To Remus he spoke in a measured tone, “He’s in his room. I'll take you if you like.”

Remus’s stomach became still with anticipation. "If you think it’ll help,” he said.

Regulus turned to Kreacher, who was now hunched over the kitchen stove, placing a pan on the flames. “Kreacher, I’ll be back in a few minutes. Keep making me breakfast and don’t tell anyone anything about this.” To Remus he added, “You have to be firm with them, you know. Otherwise they find ways to disobey you.”

“Of course,” said Remus, but his voice lacked conviction.

Regulus led him up to the third floor above ground. There weren’t many rooms, just a bathroom door half-open, and two closed doors. “That’s my bedroom,” said Regulus, pointing at the room on the other side of the bannister. “This is Sirius’s room.” A wizard that Remus recognized but hadn’t seen yet that day was standing outside. Uncertain, Remus placed his hands behind his back, waiting to see what Regulus would do next.

To his surprise, Regulus was rather direct when he spoke to the wizard guarding his brother’s bedroom. “He’s going to go inside now,” he said. “He’s going to have a little talk with my brother.” When the man made little move to open the door Regulus jutted his eyebrows at him. “Well, what are you waiting for? Open the door.”

The two men guarding the door looked nervously at Regulus. “I don’t know, um, sir.” He flicked his eyes over Regulus’s young body. He no doubt was questioning the authority of this young Death Eater.

“If you don’t open the door for me this minute then I’m going to have to fetch my superior,” said Regulus with a glare and pursed lips.

“Do you have authority to come in here?” he asked, not reaching for the door.

“I do, as a Death Eater and as a descendent of this country’s purest house. You’d be wise not to cross me.” He played a strong bluff, Remus noted. The guard fell for it, though Remus saw his doubt. He turned to the door and recited some complicated-sounding spell under his breath. With a click, the door swung open.

“This better not be my funeral,” he said with the quiet hesitance of someone who wasn’t sure of whether they wanted their words to be heard.

Regulus paid him no mind. “Thank you,” he said. He walked through the door with his head held high and Remus scuffled in behind him, feeling like little more than the hired help.

The bedroom was Sirius’s. Where the rest of the house was laden with things like talking heads and troll feet and the tools and artefacts of death and dying, this room was simpler. On his left was a desk, then a bookshelf, and then a twin-sized bed. The walls were covered in muggle posters of motorbikes and pretty girls. The box for Sirius’s broom still lay propped against one corner, but they had evidently removed the broom inside. On the bookshelf and the desk Sirius showed his familial roots. Though Remus didn’t see any dead or dying skins or heads, there was an array of trinkets he couldn’t place. One looked like a small opal surrounded by a mass of moving copper circle parts. Another was a small bronze stick stood upright with a small crystal set on the top. Remus hadn’t the slightest idea of what they might do. Standing across from Sirius’s desk was another werewolf. Remus was sure he’d seen his face before but he couldn’t quite place him.

And then, in the bed was Sirius. He was sleeping. Remus clutched his hands together at the sight of him as his heart made his stomach feel a flurry that felt both dizzy and sick. ‘Hello, Sirius,’ he imagined himself saying, ‘I love you but you make me want to die sometimes. Do you want to join the forces of the Dark Lord?’ He decided against it.

The werewolf standing guard cleared his throat and Sirius stirred. “Go away. I’m sleeping,” he said.

“Brother, I’d advise you to wake up,” Regulus drawled.

At his brother’s voice Sirius sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. “Remus… Regulus. Should I say hello?” said Sirius. He looked less surprised to see him than Remus would have suspected. Remus moved his hands behind his back while his heart thudded in his chest. The werewolf was looking at him. He could hear it. Remus forced himself to swallow and straighten and calm.

“Your brother has asked me to speak with you,” Remus said, his voice cold despite his heartbeat.

Sirius frowned and glanced at his brother. “Has he? About what?” Sirius rubbed at his eyes to clear away the fogginess of early morning.

“About you. He says you are facing a difficult choice right now. He says the Dark Lord has offered you a place in his army, but that the alternative is death. He hoped I might be able to convince you to… make the best choice.” The Huckle’s guard’s neck appeared in Remus’s memory, cracked and fallen to his shoulder, eyes wide and skull bloody. It had been the quickest way, but it had been at his hands.

“And what is that best choice, exactly?” Sirius asked, exchanging fatigue for growing irritation. “I assume he wants me to become a Death Eater like him?” He turned to his brother. “You couldn’t even ask me yourself?”

“I wanted to be sure you would listen,” said Regulus, his arms folded on top of each other.

“You really think I’m going to listen better to this werewolf just because I slept with him?” Sirius asked, throwing his legs over to the side of his bed. He stood up, raising his arms with a frustrated noise. The werewolf to Remus’s right whipped his gaze towards Remus with raised eyebrows. “You people, you’re infuriating, all of you. I’m not going to do what you want or be who you want me to. I’m just not. You can go tell mother that as well.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here,” said Regulus.

“Of course not. Father?”

“No.”

“I should have guessed. They seemed quite unbothered by my being here when I saw them yesterday.” Sirius began to pace.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sirius. They’re very disturbed. Honestly I think they hadn’t expected to see you ever again, especially not like this.”

Sirius shook his head. “I bet they’re waiting in the wings with popcorn, just glad that Voldemort could finish the job for them.”

“They’re not like that. This isn’t what we want for you. We should be on the same side. We’re family,” Regulus said, taking some steps closer to his brother. Remus and the other werewolf looked at each other briefly, a glance of two uncomfortable people treading unwillingly on a tense family scene.

Sirius stopped pacing and turned to meet his brother. “Regulus, this isn’t about this side or that side. What Voldemort wants, what he’s doing… it’s wrong, it’s all wrong. I don’t know what you don’t understand.”

Vehemently, Regulus shook his head. “No, you’re the one who never understood. We are doing this for us, for a pure world, for a world where the worthy rule. Blood is important, Sirius. You don’t know how important.”

“No, clearly I don’t.”

Remus glanced between the two brothers. “Should we leave?” he asked, and both of their heads jerked towards his. He could see that they had both forgotten that he was in the room. Regulus was breathing from his mouth, his small face red with anger.

“No,” said Regulus, “no you shouldn’t. I’ll leave.” To his brother he added, “I’ll see you this evening, and hopefully it won’t be for your execution.” With that Regulus turned, his robe whipping about his legs, and slammed the door behind him.

“I think he’s worried about you,” said Remus.

“No, he’s worried about the family pride. It’s different, I promise you,” said Sirius, looking with irritation at his parted brother. Remus didn’t try to correct him; he wasn’t sure enough of the truth. “So. You’re here. I got a bit of an early warning when your girlfriend beat me up to prepare me for the journey. Still wasn’t sure though, but I guess now here you are.”

“Here I am,” said Remus softly. True to his word, Remus could see scrapes and bruises on Sirius’s exposed skin.

“There’s a lot you haven’t told me,” said Sirius.

“I know,” said Remus, looking to the floor like a cowed little boy.

Sirius glanced at the other werewolf in the room with a ground jaw. “So,” he said, shoving his hands into his pyjama pockets. “I’m in a pretty tight position here. I’ve got no wand, no one to help me, and Voldemort has me trapped in my own house with a guard of werewolves and bars on my windows with my whole family cheering him on in the background. Apparently they’re going to kill me tonight if I don’t pledge allegiance to the Dark Lord. Funny that, isn’t it?”

Remus gathered himself to frown, unsure of the right thing to do, sure only that he wasn’t the one to do the right thing. “Your brother’s right,” he said. “You’re putting yourself in danger by not doing as they ask.”

“Suddenly they’re very concerned about me putting myself in danger,” Sirius said with a snort. He seemed to forget himself for a moment and walked towards Remus.

“Step back,” said the werewolf guard the moment Sirius got closer than he liked, stepping forward with his hands outstretched. Sirius stared at his guard boldly, and for a moment Remus was reminded of Sirius’s younger brother.

“I’m not sure you realize. They really do kill people.” Remus looked down at his hands. They had been stained in blood only a few hours before. “We really do kill people.”

Sirius looked at him sharply. “What? You? Are you talking about your father?”

“How do you know about that?” Remus asked as his heart dropped just a little further, but there had been no chance at Sirius’s love for too many hours now. There no longer seemed to be a point in pretending.

“I heard you in the locker room at the fight,” Sirius said. Remus shoved his loose hands back behind his back. He couldn’t let Sirius see them shake. He continued with what he knew he had to say.

“The Dark Lord isn’t a bad master, so long as you have a stomach for the work. You’ll be treated well, I suppose. You’re a pureblood. You should do as Regulus says.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Sirius, his fingers lengthening at his sides in disgust.

“How will you protect them if you’re dead?” Remus asked.

“Step back,” the guard repeated more firmly this time.

“You are serious,” Sirius said. He looked at the guard for a moment as if sizing him up. The guard saw this and put his hand at his waist. He had a knife. Seeing this, Sirius bitterly stepped back, head and chest still broadly puffed with what Remus now recognized as a Black kind of dignity.

Looking at them, Remus shrugged. “When you’re a werewolf your options are slim: you fight for money, you live in the wild like an animal, or you sleep on the streets… and fight for money.”

“Is this you fighting for money?” Sirius gestured to his guard. “These people hurt people who don’t deserve it. Innocent people.”

“Sometimes you have to choose between your innocent people and the innocent people you don’t know,” Remus said. He looked at the other werewolf in the room. He was watching them both intently, no doubt mentally preparing his report to Kent.

“What happens to them if you say no?” he asked.

“Who? My family? Probably they get a pat on the back for letting me die for the cause or something.”

Remus shook his head and replied softly. “No, your other family.”

Sirius looked to the side and took a long breath in. “That’s more of a problem if I say yes.” His eyes caught with Sirius’s. In that moment they didn’t need to speak. Remus understood what he had meant to say, and here with the eyes of Sirius’s werewolf guard on them they didn’t have to say it out loud.

Gaze still locked with Sirius’s, Remus replied, “Don’t think of them. You have just one family now, and they need you with them with the Dark Lord.”

“That’s what my brother asked you to say, isn’t it?” asked Sirius.

“It is,” said Remus. “But you should think about it.” To the guard he said, “I think I’ll go now.” The guard nodded and knocked on the door.

“Visitor coming out,” he said. He received three knocks back.

“I hope I can see you again tomorrow,” said Remus, and then, when the door opened he stepped outside and Sirius was gone. He nodded brusquely to the two guards outside and walked the short distance to where Regulus stood waiting, his arms folded hotly over his chest.

“Well, what did he say?” Regulus asked.

“He’s hard to convince either way, when he has his mind on something,” Remus replied. Slowly, Regulus nodded his head.

“That sounds like my brother.” His whole face tightened in a frown. “I appreciate your trying, though. I won’t forget that you tried.”

“We both have him in mind.” Remus hesitated a moment, then lifted his hand to Regulus’s shoulder. The younger boy flinched for a moment at the touch, and Remus had the brief impression that Regulus wasn’t touched very much. He knew what that felt like. But then Regulus relaxed, almost leaning into Remus’s outstretched hand.

Regulus sighed. “I know.” He lingered there for a moment, maybe thinking, then extricated himself with the regret of the lonely. His hands fell in defeat to his sides and he nodded a good-bye. “Thank you again,” he said and descended the steps again, ready for Kreacher’s breakfast of eggs and toast.

After brief good-byes to the guards waiting by the steps Remus followed him down, and then descended one extra floor down to the basement. There the Dark Lord’s force of werewolves lay sleeping. Remus found a spot by the wall and met it with his back. He slid against the wall to the floor and wrapped his tired arms around his knees and wished he felt like sleeping. Instead, his fingers made bruises.

 


	16. A Little Privacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Remus each feel compelled by a call to duty.

**CHAPTER 16**

 

James blinked the nighttime from his eyes. The cool of morning lingered blanket-like at the base of the room. Her room was pretty, mostly, with pale pink walls he thought his mother might call salmon and a large bed framed on either side with bedside tables. It seemed clear to him that someone had tried very hard to make Lily’s room a beautiful place, a sanctuary of girlhood, but the opened trunk spilling out with books and the clutter of artifacts told a different story. Her room, girlish and haphazard and passionate, was so very Lily.

James was suddenly reminded of home. Only two days ago he could remember sitting at the breakfast table while his mother cooked and his father read the newspaper. That heaviness that had been sitting around his heart suddenly fled to his throat and he had to fight to push it down. He couldn’t cry now, not with Lily’s feet tangled with his on the bed. Instead, James shut his eyes tight and breathed. The focus on his breath fought away reality just enough for him to open his eyes again.

He decided not to move, not to poke through her things as he was so tempted to do. If he moved too much, she would know, and if he poked through her things then the universe would know and then all of this would be over in a heartbeat. He had fallen asleep in her arms, and she, it seemed, had soon followed him. He shifted to look at her, her small lips slightly open, her cheeks pink, nighttime sand crusting the corners of her eyelids. She was beautiful.

It was morning, which was good because he had hoped to get back before Sirius woke up and wondered where he was. He realized that he hadn't woken up naturally but rather because of the insistent pecking of an owl against the glass of Lily's window. In a moment, Lily followed him in stirring, but instead of waking she turned over on her side, hands on her ears to block out the noise.

"Lily," he whispered, "there's an owl for you," but Lily was adamant in her sleeping state. Noticing his revival, the owl pecked even more fiercely than before. James stared at the grey owl spotted with white, its dark black eyes sunken and wide.

"Lily?" he said, a little more loudly. Finally, she stirred. "I never knew you were such a deep sleeper," he said shyly.

She made a sleepy noise of acknowledgement. "What is it?" she slurred.

"There's an owl for you," James repeated.

"Oh. Okay." She hoisted herself upright. "Okay," she repeated before shuffling over to the window. She pulled up the hatch and let in the owl, untying the paper from its leg. James realized then that it was a paper, a newspaper. It was the Daily Prophet. A puzzled expression crossed Lily’s face.

“I don’t get the Daily Prophet,” she said. “Why is it here? How could they know where I am?”

“Magic,” said James with a shrug, but went to her side to read the paper with her from over her shoulder. He scanned the headlines.

_MINISTER OF MAGIC PROMISES BRIGHT FUTURE_

_DAILY PROPHET: DEEPLY APOLOGETIC FOR MINISTRY SCARE_

_SHIFTS IN ADMINISTRATION MEAN BIG CHANGES_

_THE DEPARTMENT OF MYSTERIES: NOT SO MYSTERIOUS AS DEPARTMENT HEAD PREPARES FOR NEW DOG_

“Is that last one about Rookwood?” James asked. “Why isn’t this all about what happened yesterday?” Lily looked at him doubtfully. She pointed at the largest picture on the page, one of Albert Huckle smiling and waving at a podium while camera flashes went off in his face. To the side stood a woman and a girl; James presumed they were his wife and daughter.

“Didn’t you tell me he was dead?” she asked.

“He is,” James insisted, looking from Lily’s doubtful face to the page. “This must be an old picture.” They spent a moment reading the first page incredulously.

 

_MINISTER OF MAGIC PROMISES BRIGHT FUTURE_

_While recent misinformation from the Ministry offices caused a stir among civilians, Minister of Magic Albert Huckle greeted the press today to assure wizards of his continued health and leadership. In an unusual show of family feeling, Mr. Huckle stands today with his wife, Rosetta, and daughter, Margaret._

_“There has been a great deal of concern lately for the state of Great Britain’s Magical Ministry. I am here today to tell you that it is unfounded - wholly and completely. Our Ministry is functioning at full capacity. In fact, in the next several days I will be unveiling some new policies that I believe will have our constituents responding with great celebration._

_“Indeed, our society has been of late in a slow downward turn. Great change is needed to return Britain to the pride that once was. Individuals who should not be partaking to this degree in our legislation are far more involved than they should rightly be, and denigrates are given privileges and liberties not afforded to those they rightfully belong to. Great change is needed, and great change is coming.”_

_These comments come in light of recent reports of a rash of deaths in the Ministry of Magic. Today, however, many Ministry members stand in support of the Minister. The Minister, when asked, claimed these reports were “irresponsible” and “completely untrue”, noting the presence of staff._

_The Daily Prophet staff in particular was reprimanded, as reports yesterday incited a string of special edition papers designed to ensure safety. However, the Minister of Magic noted the degree of fear incited by these unsubstantiated claims._

_In light of this new information, the Daily Prophet has issued an apology for their aid in the spread of misinformation._

_The Minister had little to say regarding the specifics of his plans, merely noting that they would pave an avenue of “great change” that would “greatly impact future generations.” More information will come within the next few days, he told the press._

James only read the first few lines of the next article.

 

_DAILY PROPHET: DEEPLY APOLOGETIC FOR MINISTRY SCARE_

_The Daily Prophet deeply apologizes for the undue terror incited in the Wizarding Community of Great Britain yesterday, as it circulated false information regarding the purported massacre of Ministry of Magic employees and the threat of the Dark Lord. We have been corrected, however, in our irresponsible use of information. We recognize our unique position to influence the population and greatly apologize for any concern or anxiety caused by our reports…_

 

“What the hell?” he said as he read. The rest of the paper was much of the same, though the worst was the meaningless article about Rookwood’s dog. “I swear, I didn’t make anything up.” Her hand holding up one end of the paper, Lily looked at James uncertainly.

“Are you sure you weren’t… are you sure you didn’t read the newspaper and then…”

James straightened and tore the newspaper from Lily’s hands. He began ripping the paper violently until it fell to the floor in little shreds. What remained in his hands he clenched in his fist and shook at her. Lily flinched and shrunk from him. “This is bullshit, this whole paper is bullshit, Lily! I buried my father - buried him! - and now you want me to say I made this up? I didn’t fucking make it up! I didn’t.”

“James?” said Lily softly. He snapped his eyes onto hers and she flinched again, then bit her bottom lip. Lily took a breath in and James saw a return of steel to her eyes. “James don’t talk to me like that. I know you’re hurting. I know it, I can see, but please don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then don’t tell me I’m lying!”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She moved her hand delicately to James’s bicep and he stiffened at her touch. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

“They’re making stuff up. Albert Huckle was dead, he can’t have said those things because he was dead. They’re in the ministry, they have to be.” While he spoke she stroked his arm, and while she stroked his arm he calmed visibly.

“Well, what do we do?” Lily asked.

“I don’t know,” said James. He looked out at the light streaming in from the sky. It was long past dawn; the sun was fully in the sky. It was late enough for the Ministry of Magic to hold a press conference and to write about it. It was late enough for the morning paper to have arrived late. “I’ve got to go home,” he said.

“How?”

“I don’t know. Knight Bus? I wish I’d brought my broom.” James searched the room for his things, but he hadn’t brought anything but his pack, and he hadn’t left anything there. “Shit,” he said, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

The doorknob turned, and James raised his eyes to the door. “Lils, have you seen my sweater?” a girl said. She looked shocked when she found James in her sister’s bedroom.

“Who are you?” she asked shrilly.

James looked hastily at Lily’s sister, “I’m James Potter. I’m a… friend of Lily’s,” he said. The girl’s face contorted into an expression of disgust.

“Potter, who? I’ve never heard of you,” she said.

“He’s a friend from school, Petunia,” Lily replied smoothly, narrowing her eyes and turning to face the girl who James presumed was her sister.

“I’m going to tell Mummy,” Petunia said. She placed a hand on her hip, her long neck outstretched and imperious.

“Look, I’ve got to leave,” said James. He headed for the door, “Lily, I guess I’ll see you again when school starts.”

“I’ll see you out,” she said, shooting a look at her sister. To James’s chagrin Lily’s sister followed them out of the room. “Mum!” she called as she walked behind them, “Lily had a boy over!”

“I’m so sorry,” Lily said, hiding her face with her hand. James reached the front door and was about to turn the knob when a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair, much younger than James’s own mother, emerged from the archway that led into the kitchen. To James, she seemed like a much more likely family member than Lily’s sister. “Lily, who’s this?” she asked.

“This is James. He’s a friend from school. He stopped by to talk to me about something,” Lily said from behind her hand. “Please let him leave now.” To James she said, “Please go.”

James didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He made another attempt at the door knob. When it didn’t open he paused for a moment to unlock the door, and then paused again as he realized he’d forgotten something. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Evans,” he said, putting his hand out to shake. Mrs. Evans allowed herself a small smile, warily polite, and took the hand that he had offered.

“Nice to meet you too, James.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Lily, now standing behind her mother in the hall. James was certain that once he was on the other side of the door Lily would be subject to some sort of long, unpleasant discussion. Guiltily, he opened the door.

“Please be safe,” he said. As he spoke he felt a terror in his chest. He shut the door again and strode past Lily’s mother to reach Lily again. He grasped for both of her hands and squeezed them tightly in his. “Lily, if they can mail you post then they know where you live. You know what You-Know-Who stands for. Please, please be safe. Don’t — don’t do anything rash. Don’t let them know where you are or give them any reason to come for you.”

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know. You can’t help it, though. You’re muggle-born. They’ll want to hurt you, I’m sure of it. So, please… Write to me, will you? Just so I know that you’re safe?”

Lily looked shyly between James and her mother. “Oh, okay,” she said.

“What’s he talking about?” Petunia asked. “Are we in danger?”

James gave Lily’s hands one last squeeze. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said to Lily’s mother, letting go, “but I’ve got to leave in a hurry. I’ve got to meet my mother. My father passed away yesterday, so I need to make sure she’s alright.” James saw her look of pity.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said. He wasn’t sure what to do with a look like that, so he smiled at her as best as he could, though it may have come out a grimace, and shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he repeated. “Bye Lily. Thanks again.” He opened the door a final time and saluted her as he left, the morning light like a bright blade in the hallway, retreating as he closed the door behind him.

James wasted no time on the pavement. Lily’s home was in a bright, ordered, suburban neighbourhood. Indeed, her neighbourhood was much like his own, but in Lily’s neighbourhood he would have to be a fool to summon the Knight Bus in the broad daylight. Muggle cars rolled by in front of him like large beetles with blackened eyes. James took a few steps towards the street, and then turned to head back for Lily’s backyard.

Her backyard opened onto a small alleyway lined with the backs of pleasant-looking houses, and to James’s relief he noted that the alleyway was nearly empty. He outstretched his wand arm with his wand placed at the tip, and waited.

And waited.

James stood outside with his foolish arm out for almost fifteen minutes before he relented, confused. It had never taken the Knight Bus this long before. Several houses down a woman stood up just as James relented. She wore a wide-brimmed garden hat and grey gardening gloves. She did not greet him, she just stared, her one hand raised in a salute to shade her face from the sun. James looked away uncomfortably and tapped his hand spastically against his upper thigh. The muggles were everywhere. James didn’t understand how Lily could breathe. After a moment of blatant staring the woman reluctantly dropped down to her garden once more and James raised his wand arm again. He could see her look up every so often, sunshine illuminating the wrinkled face beneath her hat.

The Knight Bus didn’t come.

James tapped his wand against his thigh, his lip bitten between his top and bottom teeth. The Knight Bus wasn’t going to come. James swung round and went back through the Evans’s garden gate, around their house, and back to their front door. He knocked rapidly with his knuckles. Within a few moment Lily opened the door to him.

“James,” she said, flushed. Behind her, Lily’s mother and sister stood with folded arms. Lily’s sister in particular looked furious, sharing Lily’s red face. Somehow it made them look more alike.

“I need your broomstick,” said James. “The Knight Bus isn’t coming.”

“Right now?” said Lily.

“Yes, right now. Where is it?”

“James, how do you even know if I have a broomstick?”

James paused. Her lack of a broomstick wasn't something he had considered. “Well, do you?” he asked.

Lily sighed, “Yes, I do, but that’s not the point. If you fly right now people will will see you,” said Lily. Behind her Lily’s mother sighed and turned for the kitchen.

“It’s fine. People will just think I’m a bird or something. Everyone just sees what they expect to see anyway.” Lily stood hesitantly at the door, blocking James’s full entrance. “Will you let me in or not?” Lily glanced back.

Lily’s sister replied as if on cue. “You know you’re not allowed boys in your room. Mum said.” Lily’s face made an expression that James had seen far too many times trained on himself. Unconsciously, he felt himself recoil, but Lily wasn’t upset with him for once, it seemed.

“You’re such a toad. Just because you couldn’t lure a boy into your room if you turned him into a cat and you bathed yourself in catnip doesn’t mean I can’t have male friends.”

“Do _not_ turn me into a cat!” Petunia replied, indignant.

Lily opened the front door with force. “Come on up James,” she said with vehemence.

“You can’t!” Petunia said at a hushed screech, her spindly fingers scrunched into a fist.

“Fine!” said Lily, ushering James up the steps, “I’ll turn you into a toad.”

This time Petunia did screech. “Mum! Lily is threatening me with magic again!”

Lily didn’t wait to hear an answer. While Lily’s sister’s screeching continued downstairs, Lily led James to her room at the pace of a battle-ready march. She flung open her bedroom cupboard. It was cluttered with knick-knacks and clothes, books and magical devices for class, and, at the back, a carefully boxed Nimbus 300.

“The Muggle-Born Cultural Inclusion Act,” Lily said. “You're lucky for it or else I wouldn't have had one.”

“Really?” asked James, taking the broom into his arms. It was several years old, but it would get the job done.

“What would I do with a broomstick? I live in London and I'm not even on the Quidditch team.”

“Oh, right," said James. He hadn’t considered that. He laid the broom out on the floor and lifted it out of the box. The broom clearly hadn’t been used much. It was still as well-polished as if it were new, only bearing one or two knicks at the handle. Perhaps she had taken it out for a few tries and then tired of it. “I’ll give it back as soon as I can.”

“Any excuse to get back here right?” Lily said dryly with a glance to the door.

“We could meet somewhere else. Here seems a bit of a bad idea.”

For a moment, Lily seemed to slump. She met James’s gaze with her own and smiled, but it was a dispirited sort of smile, and it broke James’s heart. Then she breathed in, gathering herself, and then like a phoenix she changed once more. Now she reminded him again of the Lily he knew.

“I’ll charm you and the broomstick so my neighbours won’t notice you on your way out. It should work for the whole trip home, I expect.”

“That’ll be good,” said James.

“No use causing a scandal in the papers,” Lily added. Lily glanced at her bedroom window and sighed, then shook her head. “No, it’ll be better for you to leave out the front door. There’s nothing they can say about that.”

“Alright,” said James. Lily led the way downstairs and James followed, broom in hand. To his relief, Lily’s sister and mother had retreated elsewhere so that they walked through Lily’s empty house. It was remarkably bright and well-ordered, he noted. Every corner was clean and every picture frame was polished. Even the walls sent a message of cheer with pastel paint and fresh white mouldings. It wasn’t how he had imagined her house.

Lily stopped them in her kitchen to charm James and his broomstick, and then once outside James mounted the broom. Shyly, he reached for her perfect, slender hand. Lily blushed. “Lily, I just wanted to say thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t let me in last night.”

“I expect you would have gone home,” she said, her delivery out of sync with her words.

“Maybe,” said James, “but, I mean, you didn’t have to. And it’s obviously caused you a bit of an upset. I hadn’t realized. I didn’t think. You have this whole other world — but, anyway, what I mean to say is you’re amazing. Really amazing.” He squeezed her hand while his stomach curdled with his heart and his mind blared the words ‘I LOVE YOU.’ “I guess what I want to say is…” he thought for a moment and settled on the words he could allow himself to say, “Thanks. For giving me a chance.”

This time when she smiled at him her smile was real. She rose up on her toes while he blushed red and she pressed her lips to his. It was different from last night, somehow; less desperate, perhaps, but more pure. When she came back down they were both flushed red and giddy.

“You’d better go,” she said, glancing to the woman a few gardens down. “Otherwise my neighbour will come here asking who I’m talking to.”

“Don’t worry,” said James, “I think she already noticed me. I was standing in the alleyway with my wand out looking like a bleater before I came back in.”

Lily snorted. “Of course you were. Come on, get going. Your mother’s going to be livid.”

James offered a guilty grin. “It’s just so hard to leave! You’re a temptress, woman!” Lily rolled her eyes with a snort.

“Get out of here, Potter,” she said. At her command, James rose into the air and goofily sent air kisses in her direction. She waved him away in dismissal, but today she smiled while she did it. James couldn’t help a victorious loop as he made his way into the cloud cover.

 

**~*~**

 

Remus woke to the thud of his heart beating and a kick to the shin. “You’re on duty. Wake up,” someone said. Remus blinked his bleary eyes and looked up. A man towered over him, thickly built and holding a white potion in a small vial. Another one. “You should take this.” He shoved the vial towards Remus and Remus rocked to either side. His body felt uneven somehow. The vial was thrust in his face and Remus recoiled, confronted by the smell of the potion and the stench of the man’s hands. He could smell everywhere he’d been. After a moment he took the vial and drank.

Instantly he felt more awake, more alive, more fresh, but his heartbeat quickened for a moment in his chest. “What is this, anyway?” said Remus, grasping at the wall to lift himself up in the small space between himself and the man in front of him.

The man shrugged. “I don’t know. It keeps us up, though. You know how it is. Lots of things to do and not enough of us to do it.” When Remus straightened the man backed up and looked at Remus with folded arms. “You’re that bloke, the one from that night. In the tunnels.” Remus nodded. “Was that some sort of trick?”

“No, that was real,” Remus said. “I started on… this morning, I guess.”

“Does that mean now we’re on the same side you won’t take a swing at me? Look, you’ll catch on quick. Look forward to when they move our base, official-like. Every week or two it’s some new house, new family. I expect it’ll be the Minister of Magic’s place, next.”

“Is he really dead?” asked Remus.

Adam took the vial from Remus’s hand and patted him roughly on the shoulder. “You’re an unimportant person asking another unimportant person questions about important people. I’ll give you a hint: the people who stick around stay unimportant.” Adam slipped the vial into his pocket and cleared his throat. “Speaking of, convert, this isn’t a social call. You’re on guard duty. Protecting the family. They insisted.” Though Adam’s tone was friendly his eyes were cold. They watched him with sour intent and when Remus moved to bite his thumbnail Adam’s eyes flickered over his hands, feet, belt. He was looking for a knife, Remus realized. That meant he thought Remus was dangerous. Remus lowered and opened his hands palms-up.

“No weapons,” he said, though as he turned over his hands he saw blood dried in the crevices of his nail beds. He hid his hands away and wondered if Adam had seen it.

“We are weapons,” Adam said.

He didn’t examine Remus for much longer. Instead he led him up the steps and to the second floor, the floor beneath Sirius, to where Mr. and Mrs. Black waited anxiously for nightfall. “Full moon tonight,” he said before turning the door handle to their room.

What Remus assumed had once been a bedroom had been converted somehow into a small apartment. To Remus, though, it looked more like a museum of the grotesque. Stretched across the cushions of the couch was a patchwork of skins and furs and the walls were decorated with the body parts of decapitated creatures. Remus saw the stuffed, distinctive features of a griffin, a goblin, and a graphorn. The graphorn’s tentacles were frozen somehow, seeming to reach for him from a tiger-like mouth. Nevertheless, the room had an air of grandeur. The furniture was large, intricately decorated, and heavy, and the walls were papered in a heavy green and panelled wood. The room was a concentration of the house. Everything that was outside was much more inside, and inside everything was much more.

When Remus entered, Walburga looked up and immediately narrowed her eyes. For a terrifying moment Remus wondered if somehow she had recognized him from St. Mawes. “He looks sneaky,” she said. “I want a less sneaky-looking one.”

“Ma’am,” said Adam carefully, “With all due respect, we don’t have many people free right now. It’s a busy time.”

“Did I not volunteer my house, my time, my resources to this cause? We’re important. We’ve given a lot. We deserve proper staff.” Remus and Adam glanced quickly at each other. Remus wasn’t staff. Certainly not Mrs. Black’s staff.

Mr. Black sat almost unnoticeable at a table behind the couch where Mrs. Black glared. He was reading the newspaper. He turned the page, oblivious. Mrs. Black turned her torso to her husband and screeched, “Orion, do you see this? They’ve brought me a sneaky-looking guard!”

For a moment Orion glanced up. “Terrible, too terrible,” he said, and then looked back down.

“I’m sorry ma’am but he’s all we’ve got right now,” said Adam. Warily he raised an arm to his stomach and bent awkwardly at the waist in what might have been a bow but somehow lacked the surety.

“All you’ve got, my foot he’s all you’ve got. Fine. Keep him here, but he better not steal anything!” she said, casting them both a dark glare.

Adam forced a tight-lipped smile and hurried out the door.

It was strange to be with Sirius’s mother. Yes, it was strange to be with Sirius’s father, too, but he seemed like a ghost of a person sitting beside his wife. While they puttered about the house Remus kept looking at them and seeing Sirius. In Walburga’s screech he saw Sirius’s dark humour. In Orion’s calm he saw Sirius’s frustration with quiet and his need to make himself heard. As the day meandered from morning to afternoon sun Remus tried to blend into the door. These were not people he wanted to notice him. Every time his hoped-for disguise was destroyed by a flicker of movement or an unfortunate glimpse of the sun, Walburga’s screech would become trained on him and Remus was reminded of Sirius, reminded of how he was forced to listen to this voice day after day.

To Remus’s surprise the Blacks were thinking of Sirius just as much as he was. Remus first heard Sirius’s name at lunch time. Their house elf, Kreacher, brought them a tray of limp, flavourless boiled vegetables and Remus heard his first words of praise from Mrs. Black. She thanked the elf and disdained that in this world he was the only one of himself. “It is hard to find a good servant,” she complained while she moved her vegetables around on her plate. As she spoke Kreacher beamed with pride. “Kreacher,” she said, setting down her fork, “Has Sirius learned his lesson? I’ll bet he hasn’t — the boy is permanently lacking good sense.”

Kreacher’s lip curled, “No, mistress, he hasn’t. Kreacher doesn’t think he has. Kreacher thinks that if he had sense he’d be back with you again.”

Mrs. Black wiped her lip with a serviette. “You’re exactly right, Kreacher. That boy, he is a misfortune. Every day I regret bringing him into his world, every day. Don’t you agree, Orion?” Quietly, Sirius’s father nodded.

“Lucretia and Ignatius haven’t given me a moment’s peace,” he grumbled.

“Lucretia and Ignatius? You think your family haven’t given you peace? You should very well hear mine! The things they say — they dare doubt my upbringing. Mine! They tell me I haven’t given him proper values. That child. He knows nothing and yet he goes off kissing muggles, and those posters!” She stabbed the vegetables on her plate. “And do you know what he told me, when I asked him what he was doing with that, that filth! He said he ‘likes slutty boys’! If the Dark Lord had been in power then I would have given him a real piece of my mind.”

“That boy does ask for trouble,” Orion said, shaking his head. “At least he’ll be taken care of if he doesn’t sharpen up.”

Walburga nodded, her spot of anger forgotten as quickly as if it had never happened, “Too true. The Dark Lord is a blessing. Cleansing is long overdue.” And then, just like that, the topic changed, and Remus was left by the door with his arms clenched and shaking behind his back. He remembered the bodies in the Ministry, strewn like garbage. He remembered the Huckle house and he remembered the blood on the walls. He saw Kreacher with his cloth, scrubbing the apartment while the Blacks read and complained to each other about the inconvenient but righteous honour of letting the Dark Lord use their house. He and Kreacher were the same. They were both just there to keep things clean for people like the Blacks.

They spoke about Sirius again later. A Death Eater knocked on the door to tell them that Sirius would be meeting with the Dark Lord at five. Mrs. Black asked if he’d said anything to anyone. The Death Eater said no, and when he left she took a pot and smashed it against the wall. Breath heavy on her chest, she said, “Clean it, Kreacher.”

Remus had been ten years old and five feet tall when his father had put him on the board for a moon match. “You’ll be fine,” his father had said, leaving him screaming in the cage at the back of the pub. There had been three of them in the cage, all around ten years old. Him, Nye and Alyssa, and for four days they ate only bread and water wondering which of them would die. Only Remus had parents to wish that he would.

When he and Alyssa had lived and Nye had died Remus grew to know his father’s disappointment, his mother’s grief, and his own guilt. He could remember ripping Nye’s fur-covered throat through a haze of red.

The night won his family so much money that they put him in again. This time he was thirteen, and this time he lived again. He almost had died that time, but somehow he had survived until morning. And then Remus had killed the boy, the muggle in Rookhope, when the moon was full and he despaired for morning.

Remus’s hands leaked blood but he wished they were marked only by the dust of pages and the imprint of a hand in his. Instead his fingers brushed empty air. Love was replaced by a knife.

Their summer nights together had been marked by long and true complaints and dreams, wishes and fears. Remus had known but not known that Sirius was a kindred spirit in the land of the unloved, and Sirius had known it too.

Loudly, Walburga complained, “They’re telling us still. Don’t they know I’ve taken him off the tapestry?”

“He is our son,” said Orion, sipping some tea.

“He is not our son. Not now,” Walburga said. “I don’t want to hear about his filth. It’s not mine.” She paced.

That night there had been bright flames fed by his anger. Their skin crackled in the heat and Remus had smelled flesh. Desperation had clawed him out of the room, tumbling him down stairs, desperate to carve his own freedom. He ran and then the cage was built around him again, and now here he was. Sirius was in a cage, too.

“We had high hopes once, remember?” said Mr. Black.

“And then he met that Potter boy, and that Pettigrew. Worthless boy.”

For these people Remus was selling his soul, he thought. But it wasn’t for them. It was for his mother, for Althea, for the life they could live without him.

“Completely,” said Mr. Black. “I don’t know what he sees in either of them.”

“What he lacks in wisdom he makes up for in recklessness.” Mrs. Black suddenly stopped pacing and smoothed her velvet robe. “What a waste.”

He and Sirius were the same. They had both been dogged by callousness and inattention. It would be easier for the ones who were supposed to love them if they were dead and not alive. They were the same, except for one thing. Sirius could be saved.

The door clicked open after a knock. The guard who came was another werewolf, a girl, older than Remus but shy. And Remus had left, passed the guard who stood outside their door — another demand, he assumed — and his fingers were groping the inside of his pocket for some sort of an answer to the question he hadn’t even known he was asking. The answer, though, was there. Sirius needed a wand.

Remus wasn’t framed by the fighter’s ring but even so the world slowed the way it did when his fists were left to fight the world. “Do I have some time off?” he asked the guard outside the Black’s apartment. The guard outside shrugged.

“Ask Kent,” he said. “You fading already? You can always —“ he mimed the motion of tipping back a drink. Remus knew now that he meant the white potion.

“It’s been a long night. I’d rather sleep if I can,” said Remus.

The guard shrugged. “Just don’t sleep too long. Full moon tonight. The pack’s going to go running.” Remus had run under the moon, but he had never run with the pack. He could imagine the strength in that freedom.

The kitchen was busy downstairs. Kent was at the centre of it all, lazily watching as eight hungry werewolves devoured the contents of the fridge. Not all of the food was cooked. The hungriest feasted on raw slabs of meat, cooled blood dribbling down the corners of their mouths. Somehow in all of this Remus had forgotten to feel hungry.

Seeing him Kent waved a hand halfheartedly in Remus’s direction and flicked his wrist at the fridge. “You should eat something. You’re all running wild tonight and if you’re hungry you’ll cause a fuss.” Remus shrugged. As much as he loved the taste of fresh meat it lost its appeal when the flesh spent weeks cooling under a cold lamp. Humans tasted sweet when their blood was still hot in their veins, far different from the bitter taste of a werewolf. Remus wondered if Kent knew his own scent on the night of the full moon. Here no spelled cage separated him from his beasts.

Instead he asked, “Where will we go?”

“There’s a portkey to Yorkshire. The sun sets near nine so you will be going down around six.”

Remus looked at the clock. It was barely past four. “Okay,” he said.

Like most wizards, Kent’s wand stuck boldly out of the pocket of his gym shorts. Wizards never sought to hide their greatest vulnerability. They were never afraid of being vulnerable.

“Are you going to be okay for the night?” asked Kent. He gestured toward a jug at the centre of the table, surrounded by small cups. The jug’s liquid was white. “You should drink some. Otherwise you might fall asleep.”

“I’d rather sleep,” said Remus, but Kent was already pouring him a small cup and placing it in his hand.

“Drink,” he said. Remus wondered what stake they had in his wakefulness on a night of the full moon, but nine pairs of eyes were trained on his glass. He drank, and his heart sped and his stomach lurched and he felt, again, awake.

Remus set the glass down with a clatter on the table. Only small dregs of pale white slid down the side of the glass. Kent nodded in approval. “Kent,” said Remus, forcing his eyes away from where they wanted to look, “I want to talk to you.” Kent shrugged. “In private.” His heart started beating fast and he saw one or two nearby werewolves look up and then look down. They probably blamed the white potion, but Remus’s heart beat for other reasons. Again, Kent shrugged.

“Not too much private around here,” said Kent.

“The hall is fine.”

“May as well stay in the kitchen with these ears,” Kent said, but he followed Remus past the kitchen door regardless. Remus paused in the hallway with a hand on its grey wooden wall.

“We can find somewhere more private,” Remus said.

Kent took the lead, one hand in his pocket jingling a set of keys. Kent didn’t lead them far, just a few doors down from the kitchen to the room where Remus knew the werewolves slept. It was empty now. The floor was strewn with used blankets and no pillows, two chairs against the wall, and a dresser. One light hung from the ceiling, a brass contraption bright with witchlight. Remus could see the cracks and dirt in the walls. He imagined Mrs. Black having a fit.

Once Kent was inside, Remus shut the door behind them. For the first time since the Tenebrae, they were alone. The room was quiet but for the clanking of Kent fidgeting absentmindedly with his keys. “What is it, then?” asked Kent. He was looking somewhere else in the room, not at Remus.

Remus took some steps forward and Kent’s gaze shifted. They looked each other in the eye and Remus realized that they were almost the same height. In his mind’s eye Kent loomed over him, but his mind’s eye was wrong. Kent must have sensed something predatory in his stance because he straightened. “Remus? Why’d you ask me here?”

Remus went for Kent’s ankle, sweeping him off balance. Kent stumbled and swore, “What the fuck, Lupin?” but Remus lent no mind to his words. He grabbed the back of Kent’s shirt and brought his knee to his gut. It landed well, but Remus felt something at the gut that he hadn’t expected, like a knee to his own diaphragm, cutting and squeezing away his air. Kent wheezed, and then so did Remus.

Kent thrust himself from Remus, gasping out a wheezing laugh. “You idiot.” He backed away. Remus watched him, his breath heavy. When their breaths calmed Remus came forward and Kent straightened, holding his arms out as if in open-handed victory. “Try me! You want to hit me?” Remus lurched forward to barrel his fists into Kent’s wide open stomach. With each hit Kent folded forward, and Remus felt bruises purple. Somehow he felt his fists in his own stomach.

Remus took steps back, knuckles throbbing. He looked at his hands. They were a faded pink with blood. “What’s happening to me?”

Kent cackled, his breaths shallow. “You drank the potion, you tell me. Does it hurt, Lupin? Do your punches hurt?” When Remus said nothing he continued. “Look, you go on your way and I won’t mention this to the higher ups. You’ve learned your lesson, I figure.”

Standing in front of Kent, Remus thought of his eleventh birthday. He had sat by his bedroom window all day waiting for a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts imagining the day when his walls would be stone and a great banner would unfurl from the sky to tell him the grand story of his future.

The day had never come. Kent had come instead. He had sat with his parents at the kitchen table. Althea had been five, and even then she had been his shadow. “Look,” he’d said, tapping his fingers on the linoleum, “He’s not got long. ‘Specially not now. None of them have. You’ve got to think about it long-term. You need to maximize your profits, make the right friends.”

Five years later, Kent and his father had made the right friends. Their friends had worn dark cloaks and went by secret names, but their club had been exclusive. Kent and his father had been keen to maximize their profits. They had told the Dark Lord that he could be Remus’s master.

“Are you saying…” Remus said to Kent, staring again at his callous-lined hands, “that the white stuff, it hurt me when I hit you?”

“What, you thought we just let you all run wild?” said Kent, jutting his chin towards the door. Remus didn’t look. The blood in his veins sounded like a strange drum pulsing. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.

He could forget all about this, forget about Sirius. He’d made a gamble, he’d lost, and now he was being given a way out. No consequences. Kent would forgive him and let him run with the others tonight, truly free for the first time. Althea and his mother would be safe under Kent’s care. Sirius might get hurt, but who was Sirius to him anyway? A lover, perhaps. A friend, perhaps not. He had never cared about Remus; he had thrown him away with the rubbish on the street. It was so much easier to let Kent guide him again. It was so much smoother to follow.

His hands slowly dropped, limp. He’d lost the element of surprise.

“That’s it, Remus. Let’s just forget this. Full moon nonsense, I bet. Come on, let’s go back to the kitchen together.” Kent raised a hand as if to let it hang over Remus’s shoulder. Remus let it fall over him as if spellbound. Tomorrow he would wake up again and it would be today again. Slaughter, wait, guard, comply, repeat.

He hadn’t killed his father for this.

Kent felt Remus’s muscles tense and he was ready. He went for his wand, taking a step back as he pulled it from his pocket. “ _Locomotor-“_ he began, but Remus was too close, lunging for the wand and pulling it through his fingers. He cast it aside. It clattered on the wood. Kent’s hand reached desperately for the falling wand, but Remus seized his forearm and pulled it up far behind his head.

Kent was bent forward in a bow for that second, and he took the chance to slam his spare fist into Remus’s open stomach. The hit was hard, and Remus doubled over, but didn’t loosen his grip. He was used to hard hits. With his other hand he steadied Kent’s head with his hair. Soft and several inches long, it made for a great anchor. Remus crushed his knee into Kent’s face, just the way he had been taught.

Blood blossomed on Kent’s face as his nose was twisted out of place. Remus’s face didn’t bleed, but the nose crooked and purpled and felt pain. He flinched, pulling at the strands on Kent’s head. Kent was grappling with his leg, grunting with the effort, but Remus was stronger, and he slammed his knee again into Kent’s unprotected face. The pain cut in like a small blast. Remus wanted to stop to ease the pain, but he had been taught to push past pain. Taught by Kent.

Kent’s position had Remus in full control. With as much force as he could manage Remus bent Kent’s neck with a snap. He could hear their bones crack under his hand, he could feel their muscles pull and split.

Remus sagged at the knees. Kent’s other hand fell automatically to hold him. Remus gripped at the cloth on Kent’s back for support, only fabric holding up his torso. He hugged onto Kent’s frame from above with desperate fatigue, both of them on their knees in a twisted embrace. Kent breathed through his mouth. It sounded like the muffled exhaust puffing from the back of a car. Two mouths breathed like exhaust pipes, Remus realized. He had to knock Kent out, and knocking out Kent could kill him.

The moment of breath gave Kent an opening. He went again for Remus’s gut, but his punch left him with no hands on the ground. Remus pushed him with a thrust onto his back and Kent wheezed on the fall as he clattered clumsily to the floor.

Kent was a fighter. He was used to fighting, but he was used to fighting men, not beasts. He raised his hands to his face and Remus pummelled Kent in the gut. His punches grew weaker with every hit.

“Fuck, Remus-“ Kent wheezed, “You’re gonna kill us.” His breath was high pitched and ragged. “What… you want? Money? Credit? I can… help. Stop this.”

Remus breathed. He could feel it. That cusp he was on. He had been here before, his limbs broken and his spirit on the edge. Never before today had he felt so tempted by the bright light on the other side. He got closer with every hit.

Like a game of chess, Remus could see the moves to bring him to the end. A hit to the gut to make Kent groan and fold and release his hands, and one, two, three, four hits to his soft, fleshy face.

Remus played his pieces, his hand wavering over the last hit that would knock out Kent’s king and bring him to darkness. Kent’s face was purpled and bloody, swelling in his eyes and deflated in his cheekbones. His teeth had cut the inside of his cheeks and Remus’s knuckles had cut the outside. His own face felt like a patchwork quilt of blood and bruises and he swayed with the blossoming around his brain, but he could see nothing but that last hit. It would bring him relief, he was sure of it. He could save him now, save Sirius, bring him freedom, his mind repeated.

Remus gathered the fingers in his fist together and drove one last punch into Kent’s jaw. He had been right. It was checkmate. For one brief, glorious moment Remus knew that Kent was gone, and then everything went black.

 


	17. The Order

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James meets some new people.

**CHAPTER 17**

 

By the time James reached his home in Godrick’s Hollow, his elation had faded. Gravity brought the final blow. As he touched his hand to the doorknob he realized that his father wouldn’t be there to greet him on the other side of the door and he had spent the night chasing after joy. The realization forced him to a standstill, his hand paused upon the brass.

It felt like forever later before James forced himself to turn the doorknob, his mind still locked away. It gave to his touch; the door knew to open to him. Soundlessness answered his entrance. No kettle burbled at the stove, no newspapers crackled open and shut. “Mum?” he called into the silence. He heard no reply, and fear curdled in his stomach. His mind flashed with images of his mother lying cold on her side in the upstairs hall, in the kitchen, on her bed.

At his yell a voice called out. “Hello?” James recognized the voice as belonging to Mrs. Lupin. No door in the hallway opened or closed, however, to James’s surprise, though her voice definitely came out of the Lupin’s guest bedroom. “Hello? Anyone there? Evelyn? Evelyn I swear you’ve got me wrong! I haven’t done anything! Evelyn, please let me out!”

James went up the stairs, his confusion slowing his pace. When he reached the Lupins’ bedroom he opened the door so that he could see inside. Mrs. Lupin was tied to a chair, and Althea was tied to another. Both of them had firm cloth over their eyes, tying their hands and feet and torsos to the chairs. Mrs. Lupin’s chair had tipped on its side in her struggle. Where Mrs. Lupin struggled and thrashed at the sound of the door, Althea was limp in her seat. Her face was red and splotchy from tears.

“Evelyn!” Mrs. Lupin cried out and Althea sobbed again.

James shut the door, but they kept crying out behind the wood. He paused for a moment, unable to believe that his mother could have done that, or that they could have done something worth tying them up for.

Slowly, James headed up past the guest bedroom to his own room. His door was unlocked, as he had expected, but inside he didn’t see Sirius, either.

James’s room looked as though it had been torn apart. His mother had definitely noticed his absence. James had no doubt that it had been his mother who had ripped his room apart, because his deconstructed drawers were folded neatly into piles on the floor. He was perhaps less bothered by her invasion of his privacy than he might have been in other circumstances. As it was, James looked on at the tidy disaster that was his room with more guilt than horror. With an uncomfortable flush he realized that his mother had found his small pile of dirty magazines. These, too, were piled neatly on the floor. Stuck to the top magazine was a small note reading: ‘ _WE WILL TALK ABOUT THIS LATER.’_

The note James had left Sirius was gone. James supposed his mother had taken it. In its place was a photograph from a family holiday the Potters had taken a few years before. James was sure that he hadn’t had it in his room. His mother had to have left it there, on his bedside table, for a reason. He picked it up, but the back was blank. In the picture, the Potters sat on a beach in Corsica, waving and smiling without a care in the world. James saw a younger version of himself laughing at a joke his mother had told while his father tried earnestly to pose for the picture. While the younger version of himself laughed, however, the small two-dimensional version of his mother stood at his gaze and began pointing furiously to the side.

James frowned, confused. She seemed, somehow, to be trying to tell him something. He flipped the photograph over again, but again he found nothing there. When he turned the photograph back to the main image, he found his mother, again, pointing with all of her aging vigour. For a moment, he stared at the little figure blankly while she began hopping up and down to prove her point. Finally, she stopped, red-faced, and began marching out of the frame. When she came back she was holding a crayon that looked remarkably like a crayon that had been on the cover of one of James’s childhood picture books. The crayon dwarfed her in size so that the photograph seemed suddenly more like a cartoon.

She marched forward and began writing. It took James some time to decipher the words - they were written backwards as if on the back of a glass window - but eventually he could understand, though the letters were small. The first of it read: _‘YOU ARE STUPID.’_ By now, photographic James and Thomas were paying attention. Underneath the first sentence, Mrs. Potter continued to write in bright crayon. _‘DO NOT TELL MRS. LUPIN ANYTHING!’_ Then, beneath that, she wrote, _‘SIRIUS IS MISSING.’_ James glanced warily to his open bedroom door and went to shut it closed before sitting back down upon his bed. After a moment, he got up again to lock it. By now, the figure of his mother had written more. _‘ASK MRS. MIRE’_ was on one line, and on the last she wrote, ‘ _LEAVE NO EVIDENCE’_ though James wasn’t sure what she might mean.

James frowned. After a moment, he stuffed the photograph into the bottomless pack he had left at the foot of his bed. He leaned forward on his bed, his fingers interlocked over his knees. He swept one hand up to his mouth, rubbing it over his lips as his teeth ground together. Sirius was missing. He didn’t know how to react to that news. His body was too overloaded with jittery fear to feel anything more than it already did. He breathed and focused on the message placed on his bedside table. For a brief moment, he wondered if Mrs. Lupin had placed it there, but then he remembered that the photo had warned him against her. He stood. He had to go to Mrs. Mire. He had to find his mother. He had to find Sirius. He had to figure out what was going on.

James left the house as quietly as he could, even shutting the front door with delicacy. Mrs. Mire’s home was only a few doors down. Her small but cozy house sat in the middle of a well-tended garden. Before entering Hogwarts James could remember spending countless afternoons in her garden with his friends from the neighbourhood. Mrs. Mire always hosted teas with the neighbourhood women, and whenever his mother came home from a tea with Mrs. Mire she would always have some small homemade cure for some minor health complaint.

James knocked on Mrs. Mire’s front door. He didn’t have to wait long for her to appear. She scowled when she saw him. “Your mother has been worried sick,” she said.

“Where is she?” James asked, shuffling his way inside.

“Not _here_ , goodness,” said Mrs. Mire, leading him into her living room. The fire that sat at the centre of the room blazed dimly. She took the poker from its spot at the fireside and stoked the fire. “Now, here’s what you must do, young Mr. Potter. You must say ‘Blair’s Hideaway, South Littleton’ as you go into the floo. Leave your mind blank, that’s no mind. They’ll clear you before you enter.”

“Who?” asked James.

Mrs. Mire shot him a look, straightening up with the small box of floo powder in her hand. “Now, if it weren’t your friend who was sit up in Grimmauld Place then you’d still be at home. Be grateful for what you’re given.” She beckoned him over.

“Sirius? Do you mean Sirius? What’s he doing there?” he asked.

Mrs. Mire raised her eyebrows, “They’ll tell you what they like, now, don’t be greedy. Remember what I said. Into the floo and it’s ‘Blair’s Hideaway, South Littleton.’” She patted his back, pushing him into the fire with the box of floo powder outstretched in her hands. James stumbled forward. Mrs. Mire waved a hand in impatience. James glanced back at her, and then into the flames. With a gulp he grabbed the powder from her small porcelain box and tossed it into the flames.

“Blair’s Hideaway, South Littleton,” James said, and stepped into the flames.

Around him the flames swirled bright green, twisting him and throwing him about. The final stretch and shrink of limbs felt slower than it usually did, and when it finally stopped, James felt himself slam into a heavy stone door. Around him, the green flames started to feel hot. James felt sweat form at his temples. This must have been what Mrs. Mire had meant by clearing. He knocked on the door as loudly as he could against the stone. “Hello?” he yelled. When no one answered he yelled again. “Hello! It’s me, James!”

A painstaking amount of time passed before he heard footsteps at the door. The sweat at his temples now dripped down to James’s lip. He had never spent so long in the tunnels of the floo network; James wasn’t sure of where he stood, but his feet, too, were hot.

“Where have you been sent to?” the voice asked on the other side.

“Blair’s Hideaway, South Littleton!” James yelled, hoping it was the right answer. “Please open the door! It’s hot!” If there was talking on the other side, James couldn’t hear it over the crackling of the fire.

“James!” he heard. There was no mistaking that voice.

“Mum!” he yelled.

“What brought you here?”

“Mum, you know it’s me!” he yelled, “Just let me in!” The air was beginning to steam, and his lungs were beginning to feel choked with smoke.

“James, it’s important! How did you know to come here?”

Vibrant luminescent green curled and lapped at the stone. James felt for the knob, but there was none. The stone was cool, and he pressed his hands up against it but it brought little relief. “Mrs. Mire!” he yelled.

“How did you know to go to Mrs. Mire? Now isn't the time to be slow, love!”

James realized what she was asking for. “The postcard on my bedside table! The little picture version of you told me I was stupid, and to go to Mrs. Mire!”

At that, the stone door made a groaning noise as stone ground against stone. A crack formed for James to pass through, and with it came a blast of cool air. James curled his hands around the door to force himself through before the door finished opening, shoving himself through to the other side.

He found himself in a small, cold room. A basement, perhaps. The walls were lined in stone and bare of any decoration, save for some thin wooden shelves baring jars of preserves and vegetables. The cool of the room was a shock after the floo, and James had to wrap his arms around himself to brace against it. His mother stood on the other side of the door, though she wasn’t alone. When she saw him she whacked him on the arm.

“I found your bed empty this morning. Again! Where did you go?”

“The crypt. Lily’s,” James muttered, eyes cast aside. “Why were Mrs. Lupin and Althea tied up?”

Mrs. Potter glared, “Don’t you try and distract me.”

Next to his mother was a long-haired, bearded man dressed in muggle fashion. James presumed that it was he who had spoken from the other side of the door. Once he had resealed the floo he placed a hand on Mrs. Potter’s shoulder. He seemed oblivious to the looks of surprise from both James and his mother.

“Calm down, Evelyn. Now’s not the time.”

“Excuse me Blair, but that’s my son. If I decide now’s the time to give him my mind then now’s the time,” Mrs. Potter said, turning on the scraggly man, but she didn’t return to berating James.

“They’re almost finished,” he said. He turned to walk up the stairs, and to James’s surprise his mother followed.

“I suppose you’re Blair, then?” said James.

“I am,” said the man, reaching the top. He unlocked the door and held it for James and his mother.

“Then this is your hideaway?” James asked.

“That it is,” said Blair once they had passed through the doorway. Blair was careful to close the door behind them. James wasn’t sure what he had expected to see, but this wasn’t it. Through the door was a small, one-roomed cottage with large windows kept dark by white curtains. The whole house seemed to wrap around the staircase at its centre. Blair walked left around the staircase. At the centre of this portion of the house was a long table, and each seat was taken. James felt his eyes widen. There, at the head of the table, was his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

“Hello, Professor,” he said.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” said his headmaster. His headmaster had his elbows on the table, his hands together near his face. “Your mother has been telling us much about your recent adventures. Come sit.”

At second glance, James saw two empty seats at the table, though they weren’t next to each other. Among the table’s attendants were professors from school and some people James didn’t recognize. He sat shyly next to his Charms professor, a kindly man named Professor Dowton. The smile given to him by Professor Dowton was a grim one and it was laced with pity. James looked at his hands instead. His mother had sat at the other empty seat further down the table.

“We’re quite lucky your scheme worked, Evelyn,” said Dumbledore. “Lucky indeed, considering how little we had to inform him with.” Dumbledore hemmed, and it was clear that everyone was waiting for him to speak.

“Where am I, exactly?” asked James, interrupting the silence. “I think I deserve that at least.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, even the question of where is a question that requires utmost discretion. Some of that, however, you might have already guessed. We’re in South Littleton,” said Dumbledore, lowering his hands. James noticed then that his hands rested by a small pile of papers.

“Alright. But, Blair’s Hideaway? And, pardon me for asking, professor, but what are you doing here?”

“That, Mr. Potter, may be a better question to ask. I am here, I suspect, for the same reason that I hope you are here, for the same reason that we are all here.” James glanced once more at the quiet faces circling the table. They were all equally grave. It felt so strange for James to think that just that morning he had woken up next to Lily in her pastel pink bedroom and kissed her in her backyard in the same world where this table had been set up for this strange meeting.

“Why are you all here?” James asked.

“Why, this is the first meeting held by the few of us who wish to resist the rise of the man called Lord Voldemort. I suppose you might call us an army.”

James straightened in his chair. “Make me one of you,” he said. He saw his mother frown and others’ lips purse, but Dumbledore smiled in an expression that looked like sympathy.

“You are young yet. This fight is best fought by those of us with the least to lose,” he said, but James shook his head.

“No, that’s not true. I’m not young. I’m seventeen. I’ll graduate in ten months. And Voldemort has followers at Hogwarts, I’ve seen them. I know them. Severus Snape, for one, and those others he hangs out with -“

“I’m well aware, unfortunately,” said Dumbledore.

“Then you know that you need me. Voldemort is everywhere. What happened at the Ministry yesterday, they’re saying in the papers that it was a hoax but it wasn’t. I saw it. I was there, and I saw the Death Eaters, and I saw everyone they killed. That man today, in the Daily Prophet, that wasn’t our Minister of Magic. I saw Huckle dead yesterday. I can swear it.”

A man at the table’s opposite end hemmed in a low voice. His moustache sat atop his lips like a small rodent and twitched as he spoke. “Why should we believe you, Mr. Potter? Especially since you say there are so many of you young people following You-Know-Who?”

James looked about the table. With his mother there, he was surprised somehow that they didn’t all know. “Voldemort killed my father.”

One woman tittered. “I really wish people wouldn’t say his name,” she muttered.

“Saying the name is the only way to break its power,” said Dumbledore sternly. The woman looked aside. To James, he said, “We heard about your father. He was a great man.” Those at the table brave enough to react nodded or offered James expressions of sadness. Pity again. James had to swallow a sudden burst of feeling in himself. He had never been pitied before, and somehow the revelation reminded him of the pain he was doing his best to set aside.

“He shouldn’t have died like that,” James managed.

“I know,” said Dumbledore softly. James reached his mother’s eyes. She looked ragged. James’s eyes fell to the table.

The man with the moustache cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon, but without wanting to seem quite cruel, I daresay we must establish an explanation for recent events before we can conduct a plan to combat the Ministry’s apparent recent infiltration.”

“Of course you’re right, Bargus,” said his mother, her shoulders sagging.

“And then there’s the matter of the young Mr. Black and his recent capture, if his communications are understood correctly,” added Dumbledore.

“What? Captured? Sirius?” asked James. “How?”

His Headmaster looked down his bespectacled nose at the papers at his fingertips and shuffled between the sheets until he found the one he was looking for. He drew it out and held it for James to read. First, he read a plea from Sirius, and then replies from his mother and then Dumbledore.

“If this is a real document-“ Dumbledore said, but James interrupted him.

“It is. That’s Sirius’s writing. We made that together, so we could talk in, well, in detention,” he said.

His Headmaster smiled at that. “It always seems to be a desire to make mischief that ignites the greatest brilliance in you, Mr. Potter.”

“I might have to agree with you there, Headmaster,” said James’s mother.

“Either way, I’m sure Sirius greatly appreciates this communication tool that you’ve developed between the two of you. The boy verifies it, Bargus. May we proceed under the assumption that he is telling us the truth? To debate whether we have a problem to begin with sorely delays our ability to fix the problem that we most certainly have.”

“I just worry that we are being led to act under false assumptions. How can we know? The Daily Prophet says that they gave a false report, and we all saw the Minister of Magic standing there in the photo with his family today. He’s clearly not dead,” said Bargus.

“This is ridiculous,” said James. “He’s dead. They’re all dead. We all know that. That’s why you’re here. It’s not an illusion. Voldemort must have taken over the papers, or threatened them or something. That’s not the point of this, is it? To prove it? The point is to fight him. It has to be.”

“Indeed,” said his Headmaster, clearing his throat, “That is the point.” He looked pointedly at the others at the table, and they seemed to remember that it was. Like guilty children under the watchful eye of a parent, they squirmed in their seats. “We do have a reason for summoning you here, however, Mr. Potter. We believe that you might have some valuable knowledge from your experience at the Ministry - knowledge that may turn the course of this war.”

At Dumbledore’s prompting James began to recount his previous few days, from when he, Remus, and Sirius had left his home until his arrival at Blair’s Hideaway. He was careful, however, to skip the details about his rendezvous at Lily Evans’s. His Headmaster seemed particularly interested in the parts concerning Remus, urging James to clarify small details that James hadn’t seen as important.

“This isn’t far from what we’d expected,” said Dumbledore when James finished. Like a shift on a chess board James’s elders began to speak, one on top of the other.

“We need more intelligence,” Bargus said. “We simply can’t move forward without it.”

“We need to act, that’s what we need,” said Mrs. Potter. “There is a boy in London about to be killed-“

“The important thing, Evelyn, is that we move you and your family. Indeed, it may be of greater benefit to keep Sirius there. He can give us information, intelligence, something we are sorely lacking-“ said Bargus.

“Oi, who’s arguing to keep a seventeen-year-old with You-Know-Who?” said Blair.

“This boy is a Black. How do we know he doesn’t side with You-Know-Who after all?” added a woman that James didn’t know.

“What? He’s my best friend! I know he isn’t—“ James tried to interject, but he was spoken over.

“That is true… Who’s to say he won’t be influenced?”

“Perhaps Mr. Black is more of a threat.”

“Indeed.” This was Bargus.

Mrs. Potter stood, her limbs shaking with fury, “I have known Sirius for most of his young life. He has stayed at my house on numerous occasions. I can tell you, Sirius is a sweet boy. James didn’t tell you why he was with us this summer, did he? He was rejected by his family because he was with a muggle and he ran away! I promise you, this boy isn’t the enemy!”

“I know you’re partial to the kid, Evelyn,” said Blair from across the table, “but you have to admit there’s been some funny business from your house since he’s been there. Those letters… we traced them to known centres of Dark Magic. This bar, the Tenebrae? Very sketchy place.”

“Yes, but the letters were being sent to the Lupins, not to Sirius. That last one, that was a threat. That must have been how they got a hold of him. He must have thought they had James, since my idiot son disappeared again last night,” said Mrs. Potter with a pointed look at James.

“What letter?” asked James, though the conversation went on above them.

“More of a note, really,” she said, and asked Dumbledore to pass it down to her while the rest argued about their next move. The note was small and written in the same way that the rest of the notes to Remus had been.

“Shit,” he said quietly. He had been gone, and Sirius had thought he was in danger. He had gone to protect him, and now he was the one in danger. He raised his hand to his head. His head felt to heavy to stay up alone.

“The real problem here isn’t this young man. I’m sure he’s a nice young man,” said one of the women at the table. “The real issue is that we don’t yet have the resources to fight back. We don’t know anything, and if we try and get into their headquarters at this point, today, we’ll all be killed.”

“We can’t just sit around and not do anything,” said Blair.

James looked at his Headmaster. His mouth was drawn and his bushy white brows were furrowed, wrinkling his ageless face. Noticing his gaze, Dumbledore turned, but looked away from James in shame. James felt a heaviness in his chest.

“I’d rather not agree with you, Martha, but unfortunately there’s not much that we can do yet.” Dumbledore shuffled the papers in front of him and James believed the grief in his face.

Somehow, this was enough for everyone else. Dumbledore’s words were the only ones that mattered, in the end, and with their plans of inaction settled until their next fruitless meeting, and soon everyone began getting up from the table and tottering downstairs, certain once more of their own safety. Dumbledore was the last at the table to get up.

“Come on, James,” said his mother from the door to the stairs.

“Just a moment, mum,” said James, standing next to his Headmaster. With the only flurries of activity sounding from below the stairs, Dumbledore pulled out his chair with a low screech against the wood. His face was knotted in concern, and he stared at the papers beneath his fingers as though he saw something there that no one else could.

“Professor,” said James. Dumbledore looked up over his spectacles. Despite his age, he still towered over James.

“Yes, Mr. Potter?”

James cleared his throat, still not sure of what he would say or how he would say it. “Sir. This whole thing…”

“Yes?”

James looked behind him to where his mother stood in limbo, one hand on the door frame and one lingering at her side as she watched them warily. He cleared his throat again and steeled his gaze away from her concern. “Sir, I can help. I have something. It’s a cloak, an invisibility cloak, and when you’re under it nobody can see you.”

“Where on earth did you get a thing like that?” Dumbledore asked.

“My father,” said James, “He gave it to me. Sir, you mustn’t tell anyone about it. Especially now, I think it’s not good to have people knowing about something like this.”

His headmaster nodded slowly, “You may be right about that. I’m not sure if you realize what something like that is worth, if this cloak does as you say.”

James shrugged. “I don’t care what it’s worth. What I’m trying to say is that something needs to be done, and I’m the only one at this table who can do it. The rest of them, I don’t know what’s wrong with them. I think maybe they’re too old or too scared or something, but they’re going to let my best friend get killed while he’s trying to save my life. I can’t allow that.”

His headmaster looked at him kindly, like someone about to pat the head of a particularly adorable dog. “James,” it was the first time his headmaster had ever called him that, “surely you understand that we are as concerned about you as we are about Sirius. You’re both so young.”

The words jolted James back. He tilted his face to the side as he looked at his headmaster in shock. “Professor, how is age supposed to protect me from any of this? It hasn’t so far.”

His headmaster looked up at his mother, still lingering in the doorway. “No,” he said, more to her than to him, “I suppose it hasn’t.”

“You’re going to throw my baby in the fire, aren’t you?” she said. “Do it. He’ll just run away again if you don’t. Third time’s the charm.” Her limbs quivered where she stood, and there in her long, pleated dress and floral shawl she looked so old. After just one day she suddenly looked so much more grey.

“Evelyn,” said Dumbledore.

“You’re supposed to protect our children, not send them on impossible missions meant for adults.”

“Evelyn,” said Dumbledore again, but Mrs. Potter shook her head.

“Until he is of age, I have a say over whether or not he is enlisted for this sort of insanity, and for now the answer to that is no. My son is not going anywhere,” she said, her earlier sarcasm replaced with desperation. She stared at James with a hardened jaw.

James stared back. He wasn’t used to her being the parent who was unrelenting. It seemed that everyone else had left, because Blair came up the stairs, skirting Mrs. Potter to re-enter his living room. “What's this?” he asked.

“Mr. Potter has volunteered himself on a mission to save his best friend,” said Dumbledore, tilting his head to the side. “Mrs. Potter is convinced this mission would be suicidal.”

Blair shook his head, walking past. With a loud sigh he sat himself in a chair at the now-empty table. “Of course you do. We all agree that You-Know-Who is a dangerous maniac, but no one wants to put themselves in the fire to stop him. Instead we’ve agreed to more talks." He scoffed. “Such bullshit.”

“Not everyone is up for the challenge of fighting in an underground army,” said Dumbledore, returning to the table. He looked pointedly at Mrs. Potter, and she flushed from where she stood.

“I am," said James. “I keep saying it but no one’s listening.”

Dumbledore locked together his two sets of fingers, his robe sleeves slipping to his elbows, firmly entrenched on the table. His arms were thin and wiry, fine blonde-grey hairs lining his forearms. James wasn’t used to seeing his professor so bare. He looked off somewhere unreachable ahead of him. “You heard your mother, Mr. Potter. She has a say over whether or not you are enlisted in this sort of insanity, and her say is that you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Albus. He’s seventeen,” said James’s mother. She left the doorway now, perhaps resigned to a longer stay in the cottage.

“So is Mr. Black, if I remember correctly.” He made a hemming noise and shrugged. "I suppose he's not worth discussing anymore. His mother’s not here, I don’t think.”

That made Mrs. Potter pause, just as Dumbledore has known it would. James could see his mother examine his headmaster’s line of manipulation with wan patience. “You can’t expect me to choose between the two. James is my son.”

“Sirius could die, mum. Die or become a Death Eater. Those are his choices right now,” said James. Strands of yellow light flickered against the red wood of the table. “Look, I’m going to do it. Right now I’m just giving you the option to know when I leave.”

James’s mother looked between the three men before her. She closed her eyes and lowered her head. “You all want me to agree, but, James, what if you get hurt? What if I lose you?” Her words came out as nothing more than a whisper.

James stepped forward, desperate to reach her, “Mum, what if you don’t?” Her forehead lined in creases, Mrs. Potter reached out for her son. Dumbledore looked on, feigning ambivalence, his head tilted in a seemingly bland curiosity. Quietly, James added, “What if I lose Sirius?” His mother’s eyelids fell, veiling a precipice of tears.

“One day you’ll tell me I was a coward if I don’t let you go,” she said.

“We all need a little bravery right now,” Dumbledore said, his voice making them jump.

“That’s the first step, isn’t it?” said Blair, seeming to decide that it was finally safe to speak again. “You’ve got to decide to do something.”

__

**~*~**

 

Remus woke feeling hungover. His face rested on Kent’s chest. The other man was still out cold. The other man was not a werewolf.

Carefully, Remus picked himself up from his fleshy bed and begged the forces of the world that when he checked the clock it would not be past five. Kent’s wand lay abandoned at the other end of the room. Groggily, Remus lumbered over to the wand feeling heavy and drained. He looked a mess. He knew he looked a mess, but he had a wand for Sirius.

He stuffed the wand underneath his shirt so that it was unseen where it poked from the waist of his pants, and lumbered to the door. He would be wanted at five, he repeated to himself, and then stopped. On Kent’s belt there was a string of keys. He approached Kent, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t wake, and bent down with the delicacy of a much older man to strip the keys from his belt.

When they had given them all that potion, they hadn’t taken the werewolves’ lupine qualities into account. Werewolves could hit harder, hear and smell farther, and recover faster than humans. His self-imposed knockout was far more temporary than Kent could have anticipated.

Outside Remus shut the door. To his chagrin he couldn’t see a lock. Or a clock. Downstairs no light gave him a clue about the time of day, though in August the sun would only set at around eight at night in London. He strained his ears. The kitchen wasn’t far, and somehow no one had thought to follow him and Kent to the spare room. It was quieter now than before, though he could still hear bodies moving and talking and eating.

His stomach rumbled at the sound of sizzling in the kitchen. No matter what happened today, it was still the full moon tonight, and if people were still cooking that was a good sign. It meant they hadn’t left yet. It wasn’t yet six.

He knew he smelled like his blood and sweat and Kent’s blood and sweat but the kitchen was heavy with the scent of cooking meat. It was worth the risk to check the time. He followed the hallway, his hand guiding the way as it moved along the wall. At the entrance he turned his back to face the counter. The last slabs of meat had been cooked and piled on plates and Remus stood close to the meat. It was so tantalizingly close. Not bothering with cutlery he brought a chicken wing to his mouth. He darted his gaze behind him towards the clock. The short hand rested on the four still and his knees almost went weak with relief. He had been with Kent for just over half an hour, but that meant little time was left before Sirius was brought down.

He wiped his fingers with his lips. The chicken had barely touched the long empty pit that was his stomach, but he needed to go. He grabbed another leg and chewed what he could, turning to leave. “What’s with you?” asked some nameless face over a plate, but Remus waved them off.

Upstairs was quiet. Remus found a sink on the first floor in a small bathroom scented with potpourri. He washed the blood from his calloused hands, and drenched his swollen face and sore neck with cold water. His shirt was wet at the collar.

Remus clenched the sink with his hands and breathed. The air was stale in this small, tight room. Drops of water decorated his eyelashes. Didn’t water mean new? He wondered briefly what that felt like with a sudden ache and then washed the thought away. Even when mended broken things were never new.

He dried his face with a towel. His swells and his bruises were far less noticeable when he wasn’t spattered with blood, he decided. The Black’s ground floor was far more friendly than the basement, though even here the family’s strange tendencies were on display. As soon as Remus finished drying his face he heard the telltale pop of someone apparating in the foyer, and then another pop followed moments later. It was happening. They were coming.

As he’d predicted, outside in the foyer there were now two Death Eaters cloaked in black. Just two, Remus saw to his relief. He stood awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Can I take you upstairs?” he asked. His voice sounded hoarse, probably from his snapped neck. He was by no means healed, but his crucial healing had come far in the last half hour.

“Please,” drawled a voice underneath one of the hoods. Even just that voice made Remus feel underdressed.

The werewolf outside Voldemort’s meeting room standing guard had a moment of surprise when he saw Remus. His eyebrows raised and then quickly dropped once he saw Remus’s company. Without a word he opened the door. They were expected, then. “Kent’s orders,” said Remus, following them.

The werewolf on guard grabbed Remus’s forearm before he was able to slip inside. “You look rough,” he said.

Remus shrugged. “Things happen,” he said, pulling his arm out through his fingers.

No one questioned his presence in the line of werewolf guards. Remus saw two already in their positions; two behind one of the room’s two empty chairs. Where one chair seemed grand, lined in a green leather and studded with brass, the other chair was plain. Remus stood himself behind the plainer chair. He was quite certain that Sirius would be sitting here.

The two Death Eaters that he had led in took positions behind the leather chair, as Remus had predicted, and stood in wait, having some quiet conversation that his nerves couldn’t be bothered to focus on.

Five o’clock was approaching. Next to enter the room were the Blacks, visibly anxious and solemn. Mrs. Black had shrouded herself in a black fur shawl, though Remus couldn’t have named the creature around her shoulders. Remus slouched and withdrew his gaze, determined not to meet their eyes. He hoped desperately that they wouldn’t notice that he was the same werewolf guard who, just over an hour ago, had been unbruised and dry.

Regulus stood with his parents despite his Death Eater wardrobe. He looked just as uncomfortable as they did, if not more. His eyes were scanning the room as if for clues, and in his scan his eyes fell upon Remus. They widened somewhat when they saw his bruises and his closing scabs and swollen nose and eyelids, and then narrowed. Remus looked away.

Then suddenly the room grew tense. No one could have said how they knew he was coming but they did. The air grew somehow colder, a shiver crept onto the back of his neck. A buzz entered the room just before he did.

The Dark Lord was robed in black, the insides of his sleeves a magnificent green. He was followed by two more Death Eaters, both of whom slithered behind their lord with a heady devotion. The Dark Lord took his place at the other end of the room in the green leathered chair with a small frown. His frown echoed through his supporters. They fidgeted in their spots at his displeasure, correcting the placement of their clothes in sharp movements.

“Where is the boy?” he asked. This time his voice shocked Remus no less. The hiss of it was palpable, a river’s constant undercurrent as water hit rock.

“He’s on his way now,” said the werewolf behind the Dark Lord. Not turning to meet the speaker’s gaze, the Dark Lord nodded. His eyes scanned the space, small and squinting. Remus felt so exposed, standing alone by Sirius’s chair. He couldn’t meet his master’s eyes.

“You,” the Dark Lord said, “You’re injured. Why are you here?”

He was staring right at Remus. A flicker of a glance told him that the Dark Lord’s eyes were trained squarely on him. He felt sweat on his palms and the cool air on his forehead that had to indicate sweat on his temples as well. “Under Kent’s commands,” Remus repeated thickly. His voice sounded no better than it had five minutes before.

The Dark Lord leaned back, two sets of overlong fingers pressing tip to tip. “Kent,” he said, “That’s right. Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” said Remus.

The Dark Lord’s fingers tapped against each other in a wave. “Look at me,” he said. Remus’s eyes went up and then fell from the Dark Lord’s face. His voice was more forceful this second time that he spoke. “Look,” he said.

The room had grown tense, and all eyes had fixed themselves on Remus. He was damned either way. Remus looked at the Dark Lord — no, not at him, but into him. Into himself. Their shared look lasted for barely more than a second before Remus again let his eyes fall to the floor, but that second was enough. It gave him chills. The Dark Lord’s eyes were indeed dark, so dark that Remus was tempted to forget the existence of light. And then their look was over, but the Dark Lord had risen, cloak billowing about his thin frame.

“Insolence!” he yelled, a strange sound from his quiet mouth. A long finger pointed fiercely at Remus. “He must be punished,” he said, and then the two werewolves stepped out from behind their leader to enforce his law. They were bigger than Remus but not stronger, not more skilled, but none of this mattered when there were wizards with wands. In his struggle with violent fists and flinging legs Remus felt himself suddenly stunned, felt it but didn’t understand. It felt otherworldly, as though it happened to someone else. But then his kinspeople were dragging him at the hissed orders of the Dark Lord over their shoulders and down bumpy steps all while Remus desperately prayed that the wand in his pocket would stay exactly where he had meant for it to be.

He couldn’t close his eyes.

 


	18. Spilled Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try and save Sirius.

**CHAPTER 18**

 

Even from under the invisibility cloak James felt like he was being watched. It was strange being more than just a bystander in this. Just days ago Voldemort had seemed like a problem for other people. But no more. No more for James, no more for anyone.

James was doing this alone. It had been a hard decision, but finally the practical constraints of trying to fit Blair, James and Sirius under the invisibility cloak won out. It simply wasn’t possible to fit three men under a cloak meant for one and still manage to stay invisible. As a result, Blair waited at a muggle bus shelter just over a block away. James had been given two hours in the house before backup would be called.

Under Sirius’s instructions, on arrival James had said the words to make the house appear like a crack forgotten in the pavement. Somehow, when the front door opened, James expected something far more dramatic than the short and cheerful squeak that emitted from the hinge. But the door’s opening was undramatic, and so was James’s entrance into the manor. James, for all of their years of friendship, had never been inside Sirius’s house. Seeing the morbidly grandiose furniture he began to see where his friend had gotten his sometimes sick sense of humour. In particular, he was fascinated to see the troll foot umbrella stand for the first time. It was much more shocking in person than even Sirius’s stories had made it out to be. James was tempted to tell some sort of joke, but he had no one to tell it to.

The house was almost empty now. James felt a sudden relief for the array of charms lingering on his skin. Dumbledore had spent more than twenty minutes layering his clothes, his feet, his shoes with silencing spells, quickening spells, and any sort of spell he thought James just might possibly need.

His spells didn’t help James with the fear, however. Every time someone rushed down the steps in a hurry, James pressed himself against the wall and prayed to gods he had never before considered. He even resorted to Anubis when one particularly rambunctious werewolf nearly ran into him on his way down.

James couldn’t imagine what they would have done if he hadn’t had the invisibility cloak. He just couldn’t. Every other plan he imagined was violent or botched, and every other plan ended in his imagination with him lying in his family crypt.

Sirius was waiting upstairs in his room for the moment when James would get up. He had told them that his bedroom was heavily spelled and that only one wizard was able to open the door. Anyone else who tried would be placed under a death curse. He had also told them that Voldemort would be seeing him at five. This left them with a very brief window of time to get Sirius out of the room. James would have to be outside Sirius’s room when the door was opened by the wizard who had spelled it. Rescuing Sirius would be a matter of timing.

His foot was poised on a step that led to the house’s second floor when he heard the yell. What it said was incomprehensible, it was muffled and strange, but the voice was unmistakable. Somehow Remus had found himself in this house, too.

Moments later, there he was, just steps before James on the landing below. James backed up to get out of the way. Remus was being held by four sturdy-looking men as he kicked and flailed. Behind him another man, this one cloaked in black, shouted out, “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ” and Remus froze mid-movement. Then the job for his handlers was just to bring him downstairs. James couldn’t understand what Remus could be doing here in this house, why he might be restrained and forced down the stairs, but he didn’t dare abandon Sirius to check. He ignored the worry that blossomed and climbed up.

Although there were only three sets of stairs, it felt like there were a hundred. And then, suddenly, the stairs ended and he was at the top. There was a man there, just as Sirius had said. He wore dark robes and a hood over his face, his wand ready in his hand. James stepped away from him carefully so that his back touched the wall perpendicular to the door, and waited. He had arrived fifteen minutes before five. He gulped, the sound silenced by magic, and began to worry that Sirius had been taken down already.

Seconds turned into minutes, and then James looked at himself underneath his cloak to check the time. The clock had turned to five o’clock two minutes before. Still, the wizard at the door stood in wait. After another moment James saw him check his own watch, pulling back the sleeve of a long robe to reveal dark hair on his arms. James felt both relief and fear at the sight of the anxious Death Eater. Sirius hadn’t been taken down yet, but something was definitely wrong.

Then, from below, there was a patter of two feet running up the steps. She was panting when she reached the top, more from stress than fatigue, it seemed. Her eyes were wide with anxiety, her every muscle taut and firm. The girl, tall and blonde, walked onto the platform with the confidence of someone who belonged there.

“Comrade,” she said, “I need you to open the door. Something’s gone wrong, and I’ve been sent to check on the prisoner.”

“Not to bring him down?” asked the Death Eater, but the girl shook her head.

Compliant, the Death Eater spent a moment chanting a spell while the girl twitched impatiently. As soon as the spell was removed the girl swung open the door, James entering just a step behind her. The door closed at his heels. James had to resist the urge to jump.

“Ryan, you’re needed downstairs,” the girl said immediately once in the room. Sirius sat on his bed in jeans and a Rolling Stones t-shirt, hands folded together in wait. He looked even shaggier than usual, his dark hair limp around his face.

The man the girl was speaking to hesitated. “What for?”

“Kent’s been attacked,” she said. “I’ll take it from here.”

James didn’t know who Kent was, but the man looked alarmed. He was quick to leave the room. James readied his wand under the cloak, prepared to spell her limbs locked, but then she said something he hadn’t expected her to say.

“Please, I need your help.”

Sirius’s head jerked up in surprise and James wondered if he had met this girl before. “Why would I help you?”

“It’s not about me,” she said. She was close to tears. “It’s Remus.”

Sirius straightened where he sat. “What happened?”

She brought her hands to her face, fingers clawing at the skin on her cheeks, and then they fell again. “I think he wanted to save you.”

“What did he do?” Sirius asked.

“He got into some kind of fight with Kent — the dog trainer, our handler. And now they’ve got him locked up. They’re going to hurt him.” Her hands seemed lost, uncertain of their role on her body. They fidgeted and moved, touching each other, then resting on her thighs, then crossing.

Sirius’s jaw tensed. “What’s that got to do with me?”

“I don’t know, but there’s no other reason he would have done it. He’s in love with you, goddamnit. I wish he wasn’t but it’s so obvious that he is, and now he’s going to get himself killed.” James heard her words with a jolt. In love?

“What?” Sirius asked quietly, his voice a whisper. James was relieved to see that he was surprised, too.

“I can’t use a wand,” she said.

“I don’t have a wand,” said Sirius, but she was shaking her head.

“No, you don’t understand. I went downstairs. I saw Remus. He was in this cage, they did some sort of spell on him so that he couldn’t move—“

“Petrificus totalus,” Sirius said blankly, and the girl shrugged. Sirius seemed shocked.

“They captured him, and they put him in this tiny cage. It’s horrible. It’s plated in silver and there are these, these spikes at the top. It’s meant to kill him. Tonight’s the full moon. But I saw him and then he had something on him. It was disguised by his clothes. They must not have seen it.”

Now Sirius paused, considering her words. Something seemed to be happening in his mind that James couldn’t see. Under the invisibility cloak James paused too, wondering what part in this he would have to play. “What did he have on him?” Sirius asked.

“That’s the thing,” she said. She reached for her shirt and pulled it up, exposing her midriff. James walked around them to see what was there, but she was already struggling to remove it from her pants. Sirius stood.

“A wand,” he said.

“I think it was supposed to be for you.”

Sirius stared at the wand, as frozen in place as if the petrificus totalus charm had been placed on him and not Remus. “For me?” he repeated.

“I think he wanted you to be able to save yourself, get yourself out of here. But now he’s in trouble. He needs you. I need you. You’re his only hope.” She held the wand delicately between her fingers as if unsure that it wouldn’t explode in her hand. Sirius stood considering her offer, his eyes transfixed upon the wand when James lowered his hood.

“Sirius,” he said. Sirius’s gaze snapped upwards, darting about the room in a search for the source of the words.

“James?” he said, incredulous, “How long have you been here?” The girl whipped about, her stance showing her ready to fight. “He’s a friend,” said Sirius before she could move.

“I’ve got a proposition for you,” said James.

“Where’s the rest of you?” she said, her fists raised and shaking.

“Listen,” said James, “If you give that wand to Sirius and you help us get out safely, we’ll help you get Remus out, right Sirius?” Sirius looked at his best friend, seemingly still mystified.

“Sure?” he said.

“If we’re successful then we can help you both. Those of us fighting Voldemort will protect you from him.”

At the name she shook her head, “Sh!” she said, placing her finger on her lips. “You can’t call him that. Unless — are you a ghost?”

James decided that now wasn’t the time to fight this battle, and so he shrugged, then shook his head. “I’m not a ghost. Look, the offer stands. You help us, and we’ll help you. We’ll make sure that once we save your friend there’s somewhere for you both to go.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do you know what we are?”

James hesitated, looking to Sirius for confirmation. “Yes, we know you’re both werewolves,” said Sirius.

The girl pointed at Sirius with narrowed eyes. “He burned Remus when he found out. How do I know that you’re different? How do I know that you won’t hurt us as soon as you’ve gotten what you want from me? And why would you even help us to begin with?”

Her words made him think. The answer seemed so close and yet he found it hard to say. “It’s because…” James rubbed his thumb along the smooth grain of his wand. The answer came to him. “It’s because Remus proved himself a friend.”

Sirius’s eyebrows creased in thought. This seemed to be enough for the girl because she nodded. “Okay,” she said, and held out the wand for Sirius.

“Thank you,” Sirius said. He took it into his hands, holding it delicately as if it were something precious.

“Where is he?” asked James.

“Downstairs,” she said. “Follow me and I’ll lead you to him.”

“I’ll go,” said James. “Sirius, we’ll get you out of here—“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Sirius with a snort, “The last time you went off on your own you may as well have caused a national disaster. I’m coming with.” And that was that.

The girl — who James learned was called Alyssa — looked on in wonder as Sirius joined James underneath the invisibility cloak. “I can’t see either of you at all,” she said once they were both hidden under the cloth. “Are there many cloaks like this?”

“I don’t know,” said James honestly.

With Sirius and James pressed together under the cloak as in days of yore spent sneaking through school hallways in search of forbidden treats and secret passages, Alyssa opened the door. “Is the spell off?” she asked the wizard outside.

“Just a moment,” he said and spent a minute chanting under his breath. Once he was finished he let Alyssa pass through. She held the door open behind her for an extra breath and Sirius and James slipped through the thin opening that she’d made. “You were in there quite a while,” the guard said.

“I had a lot to say,” said Alyssa. The guard harrumphed, carelessly shutting the door without looking inside. “Any word on Kent?” she asked, but he shook his head, resuming a ready stance once more. Alyssa looked blankly through the air as if searching for their figures in space. Taking a breath she gave the guard a small brusque wave before setting off down the stairs.

James and Sirius had to be careful as they followed her. While James was spelled for quiet, Sirius had to watch that his shoes didn’t clatter too noticeably against the hardwood. Luckily the upper few floors were nearly empty of people and they were able to descend to the living room on the floor below with perfect ease. That door, though, was swung open.

Sirius paused at the entrance and James nearly tripped down the stairs. He couldn’t speak so he pinched Sirius instead. Under the cloak Sirius glared, and then looked again. James followed his gaze. Through the door Sirius watched his mother sitting tersely with her legs folded. His father was pouring himself a drink and Regulus was nowhere to be found. James tugged lightly on his friend’s wrist. As much as he wanted to stay here he couldn’t.

They had to quicken their pace to reach Alyssa. The stairs were more crowded as they reached the ground floor. James and Sirius had to be careful to navigate through the milling people dressed in clothes that could have passed as rags. Men and women alike had a woody sort of scent. James wondered where they were all going.

“Oi, Alyssa, where you off to?” someone asked.

“Hungry. Bathroom,” said Alyssa, vaguely annoying everyone who spoke to her but not seeming to give a damn. The small crowd stood impatiently in the small space of the foyer below and James had to cling to Sirius to make sure they didn’t split apart so far that one of their shoes, or worse, their ankles, seemed to appear from mid-air. They swerved and walked delicately around the oblivious bodies. It seemed like a miracle when they reached the stairs leading to the basement.

“Did you forget about the moon?” asked someone walking up from below, and James and Sirius had to flatten themselves awkwardly against the opposite wall. James was sure he’d flattened Sirius.

“Can a girl not piss in here?” Alyssa grumbled.

“Jeez, take a pill!” the other person replied, their mood darkened quickly by Alyssa’s dourness. Alyssa ignored them, walking down the last stairs and passing a brightly lit kitchen scented with hot meat, walking by several more doors and then stopping at the last door in the hallway. Alyssa tried the knob quickly, but it was locked. Still holding the knob she looked over her shoulder at the still-empty hallway.

“ _Alohamora,_ ” James whispered, and the door unlocked. Hearing him, Alyssa tried again for the door but shot her hand back suddenly and began walking towards the kitchen. James couldn’t see anything at first, but a few moments later two figures left the kitchen, dressed like the rest of them. Seeing Alyssa they traded a quick nod with her and Alyssa continued her feint of walking towards the kitchen. As soon as their backs were turned, though, she twisted her direction back to the door, quickly turned the knob and went inside.

James and Sirius started after her. For a moment the hallway was empty, and then someone was coming down the steps. “Has anyone seen Alyssa?” he asked loudly in the kitchen. There were some replies but James couldn’t hear what they said. It was now or never. He opened the door and pulled himself through the gap, Sirius just a step behind him.

“I think I got out of the cloak a bit,” Sirius muttered.

“It’s fine,” said James and closed the door. Under his breath he muttered a second spell to lock the door again. It was only when he was done that he turned to see the room.

The room, like the walls downstairs, looked old and dilapidated, strung with ragged blankets and two old chairs. Against one wall was a cage. It reached only up to James’s hip, made of heavy metal bars coated in silver. At the top of the cage were long, nightmarish spikes designed to keep its captive crouched on the floor. Its captive was Remus, long limbed and curled into fetal position on his knees. Alyssa was already beside him, her hand reaching carefully through the bars to grip at his shoulder.

“We’re going to get you out of here, okay?” she whispered, her voice a mere suggestion of sound, but Remus seemed to hear it. “They’ve agreed to help.”

“Who?” Remus asked. James took another step forward, but he and Sirius seemed to have the same thought at the same time. While James drew back the hood of the invisibility cloak Sirius drew the whole cloak over his head and slipped underneath it.

The shock of seeing them drew Remus tighter into himself. He tensed, his fists clenching. “I’m so sorry. I failed you,” he said. James tried to catch Sirius’s eyes to share a confused look, but Sirius’s eyes were elsewhere. He had joined Alyssa on the floor, too shy to reach for Remus.

“You didn’t, not at all,” Sirius said. “Alyssa gave me the wand.” He brought it out in front of Remus so that he could see it. Remus felt at his sides as if in search of it. Still crouched over he looked to Alyssa.

“How did you get it? I had it, just a second ago.”

“I took it when you were under that spell. Before they managed to put you into the cage.”

“How did you even notice it? I hid it under my shirt,” said Remus. James saw a faint smile on her lips. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“They probably weren’t checking out your ass, Lupin. Stupid place to put it if you ask me,” she said.

“Come on, now’s not the time,” said James.

“I can—“ said Sirius but he was interrupted by the slow slam of the door thrust open. A man stood at the door. He looked broken, his neck hinged strangely on his shoulders, his face as puffy and bruised as Remus’s. He stood at the door in a drunken sort of way, hanging onto the door frame for support.

“Of course you’re both here,” he said. Alyssa stood. At his loose hand James saw a glint of silver. A knife swayed at his side, long and glazed in silver. He pointed the knife at Remus. “You, now you’re going to give me back my wand.” Lazily he swung the knife in Alyssa’s direction. “Last time I saw you, you were on your back.”

“Last time I saw you, so were you. I was thinking it was good riddance and yet here you are again.”

“Who is this guy?” asked James, but no one seemed to hear him.

“You give me my wand or I swear I will fucking scream and the whole pack will come running,” he said. James couldn’t help but doubt his ability to scream. The man pointed his knife back at Remus. “He’ll be dead by morning. He can join his—“

James had never truly known how fast werewolves could be. Before he or Sirius could whip out their wands Alyssa was at the man’s throat, her hand cutting off his air.

The move was like a shock. As soon as her hands were at his throat they were away, and Alyssa was keeled over, wheezing for breath. “Alyssa!” Remus cried out too late. “It’s the potion,” he warned. “We hit them and we feel it.”

“Hey old man!” It was Sirius, his new wand brandished above his head. As the man stepped forward Sirius swished his wand, “ _Locomotor Mortis,_ ” he said, and the man’s legs snapped together, toppling him over.

Alyssa immediately went to him and turned him over, thrusting his face into the floor. James added, “ _Silencio._ ” His heavy breath had been preparing a yell but now his wide-open mouth emitted only air. Alyssa looked over in appreciation and dragged the man to the far end of the room by his struggling arms.

“We’ve got to get out of here fast,” she said. “Any chance we can get his arms too?”

While James left Sirius to the task of opening the door to Remus’s cage he cast a spell that made thick ropes emerge from nothingness to wrap around the man’s wrists and legs.

Remus, in his cage, was struggling to get out. Sirius crouched by him and offered a hand. “Come, let me help you,” he said softly. Remus took his hand and Sirius dragged him out wincing.

It was only when Remus tried to stand and James saw him in the light that he was fully able to appreciate his injuries. “What did you do to yourself?” he asked.

Remus pointed to where Kent lay flat on the ground. “I tried to beat up him.”

Alyssa moved to grab the knife that Kent had dropped to the floor when he had fallen and pointed the blade into Kent’s face. “You’re not giving us away,” she growled.

“Be careful,” said Remus. “If you slit his throat you’ll be bleeding, too.”

“It might be worth it. To watch him die,” she said. Biting her lip she brought the blade perilously close to the man’s jugular. A faint line of blood pricked on his skin, glistening globs of bright red.

“We need to go — now if we can,” said Sirius, striding towards James. James opened up his cloak, letting his friend underneath, and then paused.

“What about you two?”

Alyssa traded a look between her captive and her new companions. “You two go under there. I’ll come out with Remus in a bit. I can make it look like I’m taking him to the Dark Lord.”

James nodded. “There’s a bus stop four blocks down and to the right. It’s on the main road. I’ll be waiting there.” He pushed Sirius forward with him under the cloak. It had to be a hard push. Sirius seemed reluctant to go. He stumbled, eventually syncing his step to James’. Carefully they opened the door and slipped out.

“Do you think she’ll kill him?” Sirius whispered.

“Of course not,” said James. “Don’t be ridiculous. Hush.”

They tiptoed delicately through the hallway and then up the steps. It was there that James and Sirius were confronted by their next challenge. In the hallway werewolves were at the steps, draping themselves over the rails, some laughing and chatting while others stewed tensely alone. As quietly as they could walk, as invisible as they were, they would be noticed if they tried to go out the front door.

James gripped the stairway railing until his knuckles turned white. Underneath the cloak, Sirius’s widened eyes begged to find another way. James lowered his foot down the staircase and the old wood let out an unfavourable creak. About eight sets of ears rose with startled faces. James didn’t dare voice the word behind his tongue. The word was ‘Shit.’

“What was that?” one of them asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” said one of the werewolves looking at her dirt-caked nails.

“It’s the moon,” said one of the werewolves who had looked up at the sound of the creak. He seemed to be trying to convince himself.

The staircase murmured at weight once more, but this time it wasn’t James or Sirius. James looked down.

The staircase was pooled in dark red blood. It dripped like clockwork from her wrist, though a tie had been pulled tight to stop her bleeding. She panted as she walked, her brow wet with dewdrops of sweat. Behind Alyssa was Remus, bearing a bound and bloody wrist to match, but on the opposite arm. At the base of the steps Alyssa paused to straighten, using a shaky hand to pull up her hair into a high ponytail and streaking her blonde hair with her blood.

“Brothers, comrades,” she said, reaching James and Sirius on the highest step, “It’s been done.” Her blood was apparent, though she seemed no weaker for it.

“What happened?” asked the girl with the dirty nails. She seemed to be the only one concerned enough to ask. The rest stood transfixed as Alyssa stood tall. She raised her bandaged arm into a shaky fist. James saw that her skin was pale and nearing bloodlessness.

“Kent is dead.”

James felt rigid fingers grip his arm. Behind Alyssa’s raised fist was Remus, biting his lip and gripping his arm. He was watching her from behind, and then he looked straight at them with a frown. James reached for his cloak, uncertain for a moment that it was still there. Then he realized that Remus must have been able to smell them.

“What do you mean?” someone asked. All of the werewolves were listening now. Alyssa lowered her arm and took a long, heavy breath.

“We’ve killed him,” she said. “We’ve left the world of fire for ash. We were not made to be pets. With Kent gone we will speak for ourselves, as equals. Only our alpha will rule. No training master will force us into performing tricks.”

Someone whimpered. “They’re going to kill us.”

“You’ve killed us all,” said another.

“I’ve saved us,” Alyssa said, a ragged note in her voice. Remus, at her back, reached for her arm.

“Alyssa, we’ve got to go,” he said quietly, but of course they all heard.

“He needed to die,” she said. James wondered if the blood loss was making her delirious.

“Yes, but we don’t,” said Remus. She stumbled when he yanked her arm, but she pulled herself up, defiant.

“We can’t have a new world if we’re not willing to do anything to make it.” She strode forward through the small group. They all watched her with fearful eyes. She was one of them, had been until moments before, but now she seemed something else entirely. Her slender frame was arched in unnatural elegance, bright blue veins playing games of contrast with her usually tanned skin. A strange look was in her face, as if she saw something that none of them could. James hadn’t seen that expression in her before, but he could not imagine himself forgetting it.

Remus turned his face away from her to look at James and Sirius. ‘RUN’ he mouthed in their direction, but James and Sirius had no way under the invisibility cloak to tell him they were trapped. At his side, James felt something give way. Sirius had slipped under the cloak and was running down the stairs. Exposed. Remus stood frozen at the top of the staircase, torn between two acts of suicide.

He chose Sirius. James, just one heartbeat behind him, chose Sirius, too. That was the thing about a best friend. Alyssa stood alone in the crowd, one girl at peace among the panicked.

In the distraction Sirius had run back to the room. Kent was on the floor surrounded by his own blood, his arms stretched out and bleeding. Two deep wounds had cut into either of his wrists. His eyes had developed a milky glaze beneath his dark lashes, but a small wheezing sound said he was not quite dead yet.

“You really tried to kill him,” said Sirius. James pushed the cloak from his head.

“Sirius, what are you doing? We’ve got to go,” said James.

“Do you want to be a murderer?” asked Sirius. James knew he was speaking to Remus, not him.

“Fuck off, Black,” said Remus. It was the first time James had heard the veins of his anger. “You know what I am.” He stepped forward. “Do you want to see him dead? Is that what you want from me?” He stared at Kent’s barely breathing body with a fixed gaze.

“No, no, that’s not what I want,” said Sirius, grabbing at Remus’s arm.

“He would have had me dead at nine years old. He would have made a profit on my corpse,” said Remus.

Kent wheezed. James wasn’t even sure if he could see. “We can still save him,” said James.

Remus’s hands were in such tight fists, his eyes so determined in his gaze, muscles so tight to pounce, that James was no longer sure of who he saw standing there. He no longer seemed human. “If you can’t see what we’ve given you then maybe you are better off dead,” he said. No more blood fell from his wrist, James saw, but Kent continued to bleed. Kent’s breath rattled in his throat and then, suddenly, stopped.

“You fucking bastard!” Remus cried at his breath. Before they could stop him he went forward and slammed his foot into Kent’s unmoving body. It barely budged, but then Remus was kicking him again and again. Sirius grabbed him.

“He’s dead! Stop it!”

Remus tensed, pulling at the weight of Sirius’s arms, and then fell to rest his hands on his knees.

“Come on,” said James. He couldn’t see, or perhaps he wouldn’t see, the wetness in Remus’s eyes. When neither of them moved James forced Sirius underneath his cloak and pulled.

At the stairs something had happened in their few minutes of absence. On the ground floor where they had left her, Alyssa stood at the base of the next of the thin house’s many sets of stairs standing to attention, waiting. She was waiting for Voldemort. She looked at Remus when he reached the top. She gestured to the spot at her side and Remus paused, staring.

And then there was a scream. “Orion, there’s blood!” said Sirius’s mother, but she was too far too be seen.

“Don’t move,” Alyssa instructed. “They need to know we’re under control.” Wary gazes followed her, but the pack fell into line. None of them dared do what she had done, only she dared lead, and there was no pack without a leader.

Upstairs even James could hear Walburga’s muffled shrieks of horror. She was shrilly yelling something, but he couldn’t hear what. James gripped the staircase with one hand and his wand in the other. Beside him he saw that Sirius did the same. He couldn’t see him, but by the sudden hush James knew when Voldemort came to the top of the steps blocked to his sight by the wall.

Alyssa fell to her knees immediately at the sight of him, prostrating herself at his feet. Her blond hair spread out in a halo around her head when it fell. “Master, it has been done for you.”

Voldemort’s tone was sharp, his hollowed cheekbones drawn in with his frown. “Done. What has been done?”

James could see Alyssa’s tension in her back, in her subservient muscles, she was doing everything she could to stop herself from shaking. James couldn’t help himself, he took one gentle step up the stairs. He had to see him, had to see the man who had started and ended it all. Sirius, for once, did not step in sync.

The path to him had been cleared by the werewolves standing in a fallen row, all following Alyssa in her prostrating fall. He was unmistakable, so tall and slender. James didn’t need a name pasted on his chest to recognize You-Know-Who when he came to the top of the stairs. The man held himself as an emperor in his palace, though the stairs had never been marble and the cold elegance of the house came from unrepentant age. James’s pointed wand rose beneath his cloak. How little it would take him now to do what Voldemort had done to his father. All it required were two words. He took in a breath, became ready.

“Master, I’ve removed Kent. He was a liability. He was weak.”

Voldemort’s cold eyes grew colder. “He’s dead.”

Alyssa’s face was not visible, but her golden hair bobbed in a nod.

“And the boy?” he asked. Alyssa didn’t dare move. “Where have you taken him? Don’t think I wouldn’t have noticed the disappearance of Mister Black.” Alyssa could no longer control her shaking. “Look at me,” he said. Before his feet, Alyssa stared only at the carpet. Voldemort plodded heavy feet on the stairs to reach her. “Look at me,” he said, this time louder. Alyssa flinched at his voice. She raised her eyes. Despite her fear, they were dry. For one long moment Voldemort stared in Alyssa’s bright eyes. She was the picture of arrogance crowned by innocence, but he bore no sympathetic witness.

“And after what he’s done.”

“I fought for my freedom, master,” Alyssa said. She played a game of high stakes. The werewolves watched with bated breath. Voldemort went down another step so that he was just one step above her. His face twisted, and he brought out his leg to her neck, grinding it into the floor.

“Your kind are not made for freedom.”

Alyssa gasped a suffocated kind of squawk, her arms flailing for some kind of grip, finally reaching for the the wall. With a final stomp Voldemort released his foot and grabbed her by the hair, making her lose her grip on the wall. “He took you in, a bitten muggle child, when you became wild with the moon and killed your own family — is this how you repay your master for taking in a monster?”

“Not — enough—“ she struggled to say, eyes desperate and bulging. Voldemort let go of her with a thrust. Only her reflexes allowed her to find her feet.

Lazily, Voldemort brought out his wand arm. His wrist was limp as if to show how little it took for him to cast a powerful spell, but when he spoke he was firm, “ _Crucio_ ,” he said.

The effect was immediate. Alyssa screamed, thrust back by the force of his spell, clutching at her throat as it bulged with veins. Her scream pierced the walls of the house, and though her mouth moved James couldn’t understand a word. Her hands scrabbled for surface and she stumbled into the crowd of werewolves she had lined behind her. None of them reached out.

“Give me your wand,” said Remus in a tone hard to hear beneath her screams. Her face was purpling in the dim foyer’s light. James hesitated, but Sirius reached out to place his wand in Remus’s fingers, showcasing a sliver of their figures beneath their invisibility cloak. It would have been a risk if anyone had been watching. It only took an instant. Remus stepped out. His werewolf blood meant that the hand he outstretched to bear his wand was already clotted and scabbing.

“ _Incendio_ you fucking cunt!” he yelled, and Voldemort’s cloak lit with flames. He lost concentration on Alyssa’s spell in his momentary shock, flapping his arms for a moment before turning his wand on himself and issuing the counter spell. But that second out of focus was enough. Alyssa flung the front door wide open and bolted through the archway. “ _Incendio_!” Remus cried again, this time lighting the door on fire, blurring Voldemort’s vision.

“Motherfucker I’ve got a _cloak_ ,” whispered James.

Voldemort pressed on his arm and walked into the flames. This time his cloak remained still, silky, and fireproof. The werewolves, behind him, scrambled, a sudden flood of bodies running for the stairs below ground. James and Sirius had to dodge behind them, quickly repeating the spell Voldemort had used to allow his clothes to bear the flames, and then followed them outside.

There, Remus and Alyssa were suspended in mid-air on the grass in front of the house, fire curdling the wood of the front door. James glanced at Sirius under his cloak. They weren’t getting out of this with just one wand. He summoned Kent’s wand from Remus, the slender branch of wood flying smoothly through the air in his direction, and then Voldemort was looking his way, and Voldemort was not alone.

No less than ten Death Eaters had appeared as if from nowhere, hooded and faceless in dark cloth. James handed Kent’s wand to Sirius. Under the cloak, hidden and shadowed but able to see as if in open air, James whispered to Sirius, “Do you remember Snivellus and the rabbit?”

“How the fuck are we supposed to do that?” Sirius whispered back. One of the Death Eaters was walking towards them. They ran for the wall of the house, placing their backs against the grey wooden siding, the Death Eater at their feet. As they left he reached where they had stood just moments before.

“There’s someone here,” said a Death Eater.

“Kent,” James whispered. James knew it was insane, Sirius knew it was insane, but they had been friends for long enough that James knew Sirius wouldn’t say no.

They turned, shuffled to avoid exposing themselves under the cloak, and began muttering the incantation they had created at school for far lighter purposes in whispers that could have been mistaken for wind.

“It’s in the grass. Just find it,” said Voldemort with a purposeful flick of his wrist. The Death Eater standing in their place immediately dropped to the grass to comb through the blades of greenery for the wand. Voldemort returned to Remus and Alyssa. “You have both been immeasurably foolish.”

James couldn’t hear the spell he cast, but a flash of light sliced the air once, then twice. Twin strikes as if left by large swords tore through the fabric of Remus and Alyssa’s clothing, and deep into their skin. The sky filled with Alyssa’s shocked scream, Remus’s growling yell. Blood ran from the marks, etched into their torsos, dripping like red rain onto the Black’s front lawn. Sirius faltered in his speech. James pinched him, his look meaningful. Now wasn’t the time to decide to die.

“You’re a fan of fire, aren’t you, Lupin?” Voldemort said. The spell he chanted wasn’t the one that Remus had used. The fire that erupted from his wand in a steady stream to envelop them was bright and green. From their yells James had no doubt that the green flames burned at the touch. He could smell something, something crisping. His heart clenched. They could already be dead. They spoke the incantation’s final word.

Voldemort turned to face the house. “Those of you listening, those of you waiting, remember your friends, remember how they died,” he said.

Glass and wood frame burst from the windows in tiny blades. Shattered blades of glass flew through the air, making the grass a kaleidoscope of scattered slivers. James and Sirius ducked, warding themselves from the tiny blades with their forearms. The Death Eaters weren’t so lucky. They heard scattering cries as the Death Eaters were hit by the tiny shards of window pane. And then they saw what had caused the window to burst.

Floating in mid-air, skin paled and bloodless, was Kent. His forearms were stained in congealed and drying blood from the deep slashes made into his wrists. His eyes were white and rolled into the back of his head, but his mouth opened and spoke. “You call yourself the Dark Lord, but you are the lord of no one.” Though it was Kent who seemed to speak, it was Dumbledore’s voice that boomed from his mouth in James and Sirius’s act of corpse-doll puppetry.

Voldemort drew himself up, stopping the other Death Eaters from coming forward with an outstretched hand. “Dumbledore?” he cried, “Reveal yourself!”

James and Sirius tiptoed further around the bend of the house to hide themselves beyond the Death Eaters’ line of vision. James stripped Sirius of the invisibility cloak with a nod and Sirius continued to operate the spell. James ran to the bushes behind the house where he had planted his broomstick before entering. It rushed to meet his hand and he leaped onto the back of the broom, soaring abruptly into the sky. With Voldemort distracted by Dumbledore’s phantom voice, James murmured a watery counter spell to the fire, and the green flames sizzled into turquoise before extinguishing completely.

“Do you mistake me for some easy simpleton?” Kent’s corpse bellowed below, his lifeless arms raising limply beside him.

A shiver ran through James at Alyssa and Remus’s flameless bodies. They were matching in their gore. Their organs were exposed beneath their sliced, bloody skin, that same skin covered in a layer of crispy red. They could have been dead, burned alive by wizard fire. James began to breathe fast, having to force his broom closer to their crispy frames. His broom was only so big, but he scooted to the front and maneuvered the back end beneath their bottoms. One by one he brought their warm and motionless arms to hang around his waist before snipping the magic that held them in the air. He remembered seeing Mr. Lupin’s crisp corpse, and remembered how he had vomited into the garden. He wished he could vomit again, but he swallowed it down.

Below him, the Death Eaters cast spells in bright light and Kent’s corpse shuddered and swayed with every blow. If they had looked up they would have seen the front and back of a broomstick, loaded with Alyssa and Remus. “Come on,” James whispered to Sirius, though he knew Sirius couldn’t hear. He couldn’t get him yet, with all of their attention looking in the direction that he would have to fly.

Sirius must have seen him. Kent’s corpse crossed his raised arms in front of him, wind blowing from behind him, building some sort of magical tension and compelling the Death Eaters to raise their hands up against the force of the air that blew like sharp daggers against their cloaks and faces. And then what had started as wind grew, shuddering, brightening, until it was clear that it was not just wind. The air screeched with tension. The house behind Kent shuddered as its foundations were shaken. Wood tore away from the frame of the house, swirling in the cyclone Sirius and James had created. The air became hot. James knew it was time to dive.

He pointed his broom at the ground where Sirius crouched, daring to expose himself in front of the watching Death Eaters. He dove at breakneck speed, tightening his elbows to his waist to stop his unmoving passengers from falling. The heat warmed his ears when he reached the ground, vibrating his skin for the brief moment it took for Sirius to see his broom and hop on behind Alyssa and Remus, clutching desperately at James, digging his nails into his sleeves to prevent himself from falling when James suddenly directed his broom vertically at the sky.

They were not yet clear of the roof when Kent’s crossed arms expanded and his body became the nucleus of the explosion. A circle of heat and debris expanded from where he floated in mid-air. He splattered. Muscle tissue, blood, and shattered bone sped into the air on all sides. James leaned forward to speed his flight away. He would never wear these clothes again, he decided.

“Do you think they’re dead?” Sirius asked, his voice raised above the wind resisting their hurried flight.

“I fucking hope not!” James said, his cape shuddering against the clouds trapped in its folds. He swerved away from a passing bird. “Do you see them? Are they behind us?”

“Not yet!” said Sirius.

“Don’t move!” James yelled when the broom wobbled with shifting weight.

“I’m feeling their pulse. Fuck, they need a healer. They need St. Mungo’s.”

“Are they alive?” James asked.

“Barely,” said Sirius.

“We’re going to the Hideaway,” said James, “Lean forward. We need speed! I don’t think I’ve ever flown with this many people on a broom before.”

Obediently, Sirius leaned forward. “What’s the Hideaway?” he asked.

“Dumbledore’s there!” said James. They flew for some minutes like that, leaning forward with cold, harsh wind whipping their faces and moist clouds dispersing as they pierced them like an unleashed arrow. And then, behind them, Sirius swore. “What is it?” called James, not daring to look behind him.

“We’ve been followed!” Sirius said. It was James’s turn to curse.

“How many of them are there?”

“I can see five!”

“We can’t outrun them, we’re too heavy!”

“Then what do we do?” Sirius had to shout to be heard over the constant whistling sound of the broom speeding through air.

“You tell me! You’re the beater!”

A particularly sharp blast of wind seemed to aim to knock James from the broom, and he had to tighten his grip on the handle. “Watch left!” yelled Sirius, just as a bright ball of electrical current fired to that side and James veered the broom sharply to the right, barely missing the hit. Behind him James heard a loud crack and a cackle from Sirius. “Got one!” he said. “Think we can borrow his broomstick?”

“Better not,” said James, “It might be cursed.”

“Good thinking,” said Sirius.

James couldn’t see what Sirius was aiming with or where he aimed. All he saw were bright flashes and explosions of light, and then sudden shouts of “Watch left!” and “To your right!” He couldn’t remember any quidditch game that had left him so coated in cold sweat. Time had passed, but flying in the clouds as he was he couldn’t tell how far they’d gone.

“Going down for a quick look!” he shouted, dipping the broomstick downward and beneath the clouds. Fewer clouds meant easier navigation, but it also meant they were easier to spot. To James’s relief he saw that they were no longer in London, perhaps only an hour to his home.

“Coming at us!” Sirius said, and James took another dive.

“There’s got to be a way to get them off our tail!” James said.

“I should be able to get them, but we’re moving so fast and I can’t even turn around,” said Sirius.

“I know,” said James, veering back up into the cloud cover. Even here the sky was beginning to dim.

“James,” said Sirius a moment after unleashing another flash of spellwork behind them. “Have you looked at the sky?”

“Fuck it Sirius, now’s not the time to philosophize. Of course I’m looking at the damned sky, there’s nothing here but sky!” said James as he leaned into another curve.

“No, you arse wipe, not the clouds in the sky. The moon!”

They rode in silence as James contemplated for a moment what Sirius had to mean. After a beat he said, “You had to mention this now?”

“I was too busy concentrating on not dying before!”

James bit his lip in thought and came up empty. “Maybe you should throw them at the Death Eaters.”

“Maybe I should throw you,” said Sirius.

“Or we could all jump off. That would solve everything,” said James.

“Left!” yelled Sirius and James swerved right, barely avoiding a spell that crackled purple.

“We’ve got to get them out of the sky, that’s our only option!” said James with the force of the move. His broomstick was printed into his tight-gripping fingers.

“How do we do that?” asked Sirius.

James leaned the broomstick right, pulling it into a curve. “We turn around!” he yelled, “And then we fucking force them out of our motherfucking sky!” Two hands planted securely on his broom he ended his curve in a full-throttle race straight towards the four remaining Death Eaters that chased them, speeding towards them with an all-out battle cry. He didn’t dare remove his hands from his broomstick as he sped. It was up to Sirius to knock them from the air. James aimed the broom straight at the one in front of him. Alarmed, the rider shot his broom upwards and Sirius yelled, “ _Stupefy_!” freezing the rider in his place, then “ _Ventus_!” and a burst of strong wind pummelled the rider with force from his side. He was unable to move when the wind forced him into a free fall from his broom. The Death Eater beside him followed him in a dive to try and save him.

Of the two riders that were left, one adopted James’s method of unfettered attack. They flew to meet each other. The Death Eater was going faster, reaching James before they could reach the Death Eater. At the last minute James veered left, passing in front of both riders. “Sirius, now!” he cried, and Sirius shot two bright balls of ice from his wand at the Death Eaters that flew before them. Only one struck, but it didn’t knock the Death Eater down.

James saw an explosion of flame and veered upwards on instinct. The flame fizzled out in the cloudy mist behind where they had ridden moments before. Blood pounded in his veins. “Sirius, make them sink! If they’re too heavy they can’t fly!” he yelled and swerved as Sirius answered his suggestion with a shouted spell.

The swerve combined with Sirius’s enthusiastic gesture caused a sudden imbalance, and James and Sirius yelped as the broom felt as if it were about to tip. The moment cost them. A spell of ice pierced them, shaking the broom and James yelled as he fought with his broom to stay on, fought with the disproportionate weight of Remus and Alyssa between him and Sirius, fought as he was falling from the sky. “Hold on!” he yelled, swerving unnatural patterns in the clouds. Fire pounded them as they swerved, but the moment was brief as Sirius yelled the counter spell into the eons of empty air.

James didn’t dare look back as he fought to steady the broom. His moment of uncertainty was far too long. He no longer felt fully himself. Instead he was a half person whose only thought was his next breath. The last Death Eater shot spells after them in the sky, and James, barely recovered from the brief fall, forced them to dodge once more. “Get the fucker, Si!” he shouted.

Sirius shouted his spell back in response, “ _Confingio_!” he said into the closing twilight. The spell hit. The darkening sky was lit with an explosion. James didn’t wait to see if the Death Eater fell with his broom. He turned and sped to where he knew his home to be. Wind whipped them in the face, the darkening sky an omen of coming cold.

Something was happening on the broom behind him. “What’s that?” he asked. He heard heavy breath.

“James. We’ve got to get down. Now,” said Sirius. Something bristled the skin against James’s neck. He didn’t have to be told twice. He aimed his broom down into a nosedive. Gravity pulled them down faster than he was expecting. Buildings surrounded by trees zoomed towards him as if broadened by a magnifying glass. Once they were close he abruptly brought his broom up so they slid through the air in the motion of a sled into a neighbourhood on the edge of trees. The broom was moving too fast, and James found them tumbling to a stop, falling from the disjointed broom.

They rolled for some seconds, calling for each other once the momentum passed. “Are they still okay?” asked Sirius. They had fallen on soft grass, their knees and elbows little more than scraped and stained in their sudden fall. James lifted himself onto his knees and crawled to where Remus and Alyssa lay sprawled on the grass.

Remus had been behind him. Though he lay sprawled and motionless, his open wounds were closer together now if not healed, and his skin was beginning to look a little more like fur. James suspected that with Remus injured the way that he was this was no normal transformation, but he was changing.

Alyssa was not changing. Her skin was burnt and charred and caked in a thin layer of snowy crystals. She had been the one who had been hit by the spell of ice.

James stared. She had been frozen but his skin felt cold. Death, everywhere. Everywhere there was so much death. Sirius, beside him, was breathing heavily. Both of them were shocked but neither could afford drama or tears.

“James, he needs a healer,” said Sirius.

James nodded. “But we can’t fly him with us. If he wakes up we could get bitten.”

“He can’t afford for us to wait until morning,” said Sirius. “This is such a strange spell.” He said, walking in a circle around Remus. “His other cuts healed so much quicker.”

“Dark magic doesn’t heal easily,” James said.

“He needs Dumbledore,” said Sirius. They were in agreement.

“And he can’t stay here. What if he attacks someone?” said James. They were in agreement again. “So we’ve got to keep going somehow.”

“How do we even get there?” asked Sirius.

James paused. “I don’t know,” he said, “I only know how to get there by floo.”

“I’m so tired,” Sirius said quietly. James looked at his friend. Sirius sat in the grass supported by his arms, sagging, barely able to hold himself up. “My parents were going to let Voldemort kill me today.”

James pursed his lips. Words of comfort didn’t exist for Sirius right now. Maybe they never would. His parents had given themselves over to the worst kind of evil. But if Sirius let those thoughts take him now, on this muggle lawn with a changing werewolf, he wouldn’t be able to get out of here.

“We’ve got to make a net,” James said abruptly. “We’ll put him in the net and fly him to my house, then we’ll summon Dumbledore through the floo. It’s our only option.”

“What about Alyssa?” Sirius asked, staring at her damaged body with empty eyes.

“There’s nothing we can do for her now,” said James. He stood, dusting the grass from his knees.

“She helped us,” said Sirius.

“I know,” said James. He walked to his friend and offered him an outstretched hand. “Come on, let’s make a net.”

“From what?” asked Sirius, placing his hand in James’s as his friend hoisted him to his feet.

“Magic and grass,” said James with a shrug.

Five minutes later their magic had yielded a net made from tied and knotted grass reinforced by charms wide enough to carry a full-grown man. They laid the net out neatly on the ground as close to Remus as they could get and then together they placed him at the centre. Another spell brought four corners together and raised them into the air. James and Sirius got onto James’s broomstick again and flew above the woven net, tying the corners tightly to the broom. James lifted them all gently, and when the net didn’t break, he tilted his broom towards the sky.

In the net below Remus continued to change. James looked down occasionally but not as often as Sirius, who seemed to be numbly gazing at Remus. James didn’t like to look at Remus writhe. It was enough to hear his occasional lupine whimpers, too weak to fully scream, though the contortions of his changing form seemed absurdly painful. When the change was done Remus looked no better than he had as a human, burned and slashed and open.

When they reached his front lawn, James jumped to the grass to pound on his front door. “Mum!” he yelled in a loud whisper, and the door was immediately open. The light of the full moon sent a sliver of silver into James’s childhood house. The lamp was on by the couches and a book lay open. She had been trying to read while she waited.

“You’ve got Sirius,” she said, her shoulders easing into a relieved sigh, spotting Sirius on the broom. When she looked at her lawn her eyes widened. “Oh no. James, what is that?”

“Mum it’s Remus. He tried to help us and now he’s hurt. I don’t have time to explain. We need Dumbledore. He was hurt by dark magic.”

Mrs. Potter looked around, “Why didn't you speak to Blair? I was worried sick.”

“We didn’t have time to contact him. We got chased out of there by a team of Death Eaters,” said James. “We’ve got to get Remus to Dumbledore. Where is he?”

“I’ll get him. James, you’ve got to hide him. You can’t keep him there like that out on our lawn,” she said with a flick of her hand and hurried to the fireside to scribble something on a pad of paper. She tossed some floo powder into the fire and threw the piece of paper in after it. “Get Sirius inside, too. Whatever we do, we can’t lead them back here. Bring Remus out to the back at least.”

Once James and Sirius had manoeuvred Remus’s whimpering form into the backyard, they each claimed a spot in the garden to watch him, Sirius in the tree near James’s window and James hidden in the shadows of the frame of the house made by the moon.

A green flash from inside the house signalled Dumbledore’s arrival. The old wizard stepped out from the back door in his pristine robes, his face curled into itself in a frown. “Follow your mother to the Hideaway,” he said as an instruction to Sirius and James, and then stepped forward to Remus. When James and Sirius didn’t move, he turned only his head. “Go,” he repeated.

James felt his mother’s palm on his hand. “Come,” she said, and led him to the fire.


	19. One Last Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dumbledore gives Sirius and James one last task.

**CHAPTER 19**

 

Dumbledore closed the door to Blair’s Hideaway with a soft click.

“Is he alright?” asked James.

Dumbledore sighed. “It depends on how well he fares through the night.”

In the last hour and a half Dumbledore had been downstairs while James and Sirius had recounted their night to James’s mother, and she had recounted hers, finally telling James why he had found Mrs. Lupin and Althea tied and blindfolded in their rooms. She said she had discovered a letter that Mrs. Lupin had written to someone named Kent (who Sirius and James were quick to connect with the Death Eaters) that discussed an agreement regarding payment and safety in return for Remus’s services to the Death Eaters. Mrs. Potter had contacted Dumbledore and together they had interrogated Mrs. Lupin and her young daughter. With their home compromised, they had returned to the Hideaway to wait for James. Althea wasn’t involved, Mrs. Potter explained, but her connection to her mother made her a threat. Since James had left for Sirius, both Althea and Mrs. Lupin had been moved to the Hideaway to prevent them from becoming a security threat. Althea had been untied and left under the tight supervision of Mrs. Potter lest she try and run away with her brother and his friend. When Blair hadn’t heard from James or Sirius he had come back and watched Althea while Mrs. Potter returned to Godric’s Hollow to wait for them, just in case.

Soon after they were finished discussing the night’s events Dumbledore strode through to the dining room where James, Sirius, Blair, and Mrs. Potter sat. Althea had been allowed to sit with them while they waited for news, but she was on the floor with her arms wrapped around her legs, her head peeking out from behind her knees. She hadn’t wanted a seat with the adults. Dumbledore gestured with a crooked finger for them to come so James and Remus stood. They followed Dumbledore to the basement steps. Once the door closed, only a small lightbulb that hung from the ceiling lit their path. They paused midway down the steps, not descending any further.

“You know you’ve both done well, exceptionally well, considering your age and your experience,” Dumbledore began, and James had a sinking feeling, “But there’s one more thing you must do before the night is over.”

“What is it, sir?” asked Sirius.

“You spoke to me of a passageway beneath London, a passage that allows people to pass unknown beneath the city and go where they will. I’m quite certain that the Death Eaters used that passage to enter the Ministry.”

James and Sirius looked at each other. “The werewolves we saw-“

“Precisely,” said Dumbledore. “We must destroy it and seal the passageways.”

James gulped. “Sir, I’m not quite sure of how we’d do that.”

Their professor reached into his robe for a pouch sewn into its side. From it, he took a small grey rock and a vial of potion. “Place the rock inside the passage where you saw the werewolves digging, and then pour the potion on top of it. Then run. This rock will expand to fill the whole room, and then the whole set of tunnels, given enough time. You must get out quickly or else you will be trapped inside much like a set of fossils. But you must not delay, and you must not fail, do you understand me? No one can have this way into the Ministry. It puts us all into too much danger.” James nodded and took the rock and the potion.

“Sir, do you just have potions like this on hand?” asked Sirius, eyeing the exchange. “You know, as a just in case? A little eye of newt, a little dragon heartstring, and, oh, a little potion to make rocks block passageways?”

“We must always be prepared, Mr. Black,” said Dumbledore, and winked.

“Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, why are we doing this and not you?” asked James.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “You must understand, James,” he said and James felt a sudden relief that he had called him by his name not by his father’s, “There are some things in the city of London that work by a magic far more ancient than you or I. Indeed, I did try and do this myself while James worked to rescue you from the Death Eaters, but the passage that Remus led you into works by the old laws. You cannot enter and you cannot find it if you’ve only heard of its existence. You can only enter if someone else has physically shown you the way. If we were to wait until tomorrow when your friend was healed from this dark magic then perhaps you could show me the way, but we cannot wait until tomorrow. Our order cannot wait to strike and we are at a great disadvantage if Voldemort has this unseen passage beneath the city.”

“Will you be looking after Remus?” asked Sirius, and his headmaster nodded.

“Yes, Mr. Black, that’s exactly what I will do.”

The dim light was their leader as they exited the basement stairway. “Mrs. Potter, we’ll need you back at your home for some time.”

“Can I go too?” asked Althea from where she still sat on the floor.

“I’m afraid it isn’t safe, but you will stay here with Mr. Blair and I, and here you will be alright.”

“What for? And what about James and Sirius? What will they be doing?” Mrs. Potter asked, forcing her seat to creak as she stood and pushed it back. She walked in a hurry to meet them, her hands held tightly together.

“Perhaps tomorrow, Mrs. Potter, but not today. Mr. Blair, do give the child something to do. She’s had quite the day today.”

“I’ve got some cards,” Blair said, hurrying from his seat to the next room over. James could hear banging as he went through a cupboard.

Dumbledore reached again into his robe and pulled out a small, folded map. “I’ve marked the place where it must be on this map. Do bring it back.” He paused, remembering something and pulled a small kerchief from his sleeve that was clearly meant to wipe his nose and took a moment to say a spell over the cloth. It swirled in his hand and then landed, totally still. Bright blue chalk. “Use this to find your way back.”

Their headmaster led them back down into the basement and to the room where a fire sat blazing. The wolf that was Remus lay in a corner surrounded by a magic circle’s white powder, keeping him trapped within its borders. He was far larger than James remembered, indistinguishable from a wolf save for his size. Stitches of green light laced his stomach together where James could remember it being split apart. His eyes looked hazy and fogged over with a wet film. Though they were open, it didn’t seem like he could see.

James stood by the fireplace first.

“You must find your way from the Leaky Cauldron,” said Dumbledore. “Tom, the barman, he’s someone I believe I can trust.”

Blair’s floo powder was in a small tin labelled ‘sugar.’ Dumbledore dipped the spoon into the tin and aimed at the fire.

“Avoid a chase this time, will you?” he said, and James stepped into the flames.

The Leaky Cauldron was empty. Only Tom, the barman, stood behind his bar. He was wiping a counter that was, no doubt, already clean. When he saw James he said nothing, and just returned to wiping his counter. James dusted his knees for almost a full minute, waiting for Sirius. When they were finally together again James opened the map to recalibrate their path and then shoved it back into his pocket. He nodded towards the door and Sirius followed him, his face flushed.

Outside, James asked, “Did something happen over there? What took you so long?”

“Nothing, it was nothing,” said Sirius, and they walked determinedly together, their footsteps hitting the pavement in unison.

James had to check the map only twice more before they reached their destination. ‘Library,’ said the door. James did as he remembered Remus having done and pressed his hand against the wall. Something pulled at him within his skin, calling at that something that made him James. James responded with a feeling of familiarity and the door responded, making the lock click open. James shared a look of awe with Sirius, and Sirius opened the door for them both. Inside it was exactly as James remembered. A long hallway of stone lit by endless candles. James handed Sirius the chalk, and they stepped inside. James remembered what Remus had said about the light and gulped, resting his hand on the old, rough stone.

“How the hell are we supposed to find the room we went to the other night. There’ve got to be hundreds of rooms down here,” said Sirius, shutting the door. James took a few steps forward.

“I think it was somewhere…” he gestured vaguely in the distance, “that way.”

“Brilliant. Guess we can go home now,” said Sirius.

“You’re welcome,” said James, and then sighed. “Right mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. Just when you were hoping to get rid of your bloodhound you suddenly need his damned nose.”

James couldn’t see Sirius’s glare at his back, but he could feel it. “He risked his life for us.”

James shrugged, “It was just a joke.” He took a step into the tunnel. His footstep echoed between the stones. Something touched his back and James nearly jumped from his skin before he realized that it was just Sirius.

“We can’t lose each other in here,” said Sirius. James nodded in understanding, and took another step.

The sound of pounding heel on stone thudded quietly through the tunnel as they walked, followed by the thin screech of chalk against the wall. Their sole reminder of time was the flicker of candlelight against the walls as they breathed wind on the flames with their passing.

They passed several turns because of their uncertainty, preferring to continue straight. “Are you sure Dumbledore needs it in that room?” asked Sirius, his voice at a whisper, no longer confident so far from the entrance. “We can’t just plant it here and leave?”

“If we do then they might just find another way to get in here. I don’t know how big this rock gets. We need to go back to the room.”

They continued forward in the dark. “Do you think Dumbledore’s trying to kill us?” asked Sirius.

“If he was we’d be dead already,” said James.

Sirius’s steps paused behind James, the break in his movement causing a tug at the back of James’s shirt. “Wait, James, I bled on the ground in that room,” he said. Hand still on the wall, James turned clockwise to look at his friend.

He narrowed his eyes, “So?”

“If I can pull myself to the blood, then that will lead us there. And we know it’ll be the right place because you guys fixed me up before I bled anywhere else.”

James’s hand reached to squeeze Sirius’s bicep with wide eyes. “Mate, you’re brilliant.” He gabbed the chalk from Sirius’s hand and placed it on the wall in the spot where Sirius had left it. “You do the spell and I’ll mark the wall,” he said, shoving his fingers between Sirius’s. “Don’t get us lost.”

Sirius nodded at James’s chalk-filled hand, “And you don’t drop the chalk.”

“Mutually assured destruction if either of us fuck up,” said James more lightly than he felt.

“As per usual,” said Sirius, and brandished his wand. “ _Carpe retractum_ my blood,” he said in the dark with a flick of his wand. A bright light in the shape of a far-reaching string lit the tunnel and Sirius lurched forward as if pulled by his shirt. He took one resistant step forward, and then another. He stumbled at the force of the weight pulling him forward, but it kept pulling.

James tightened his grip on his fingers, carefully etching the chalk into the wall, only to be pitched forward with Sirius’s hand as the compelling force became too much to resist and they were running through shadowed halls. Their feet were suddenly weaving this way and suddenly pulling them that way. James had no recollection of where he went, but this time chalk marked their journey. Every time the spell pulled suddenly he had to fight with his own hand to avoid losing his grip on the chalk and the chalk’s hold on the wall.

When the spell pulled into a room, the room, from what James could remember, it didn’t stop until Sirius had bent over and his wand touched the small splatter of dried blood he had left on his last visit. Shaking with adrenaline, James let go of Sirius’s fingers. “Bloody hell,” he said.

“How punny,” said Sirius immediately. James ignored him, instead checking the line of chalk going out the room. It stretched as far as he could see, and so far no one had followed them.

The hole they had seen in the ceiling on their last visit was, indeed, seemingly endless now. The black cavern of rock was nailed with a wooden staircase that reached to the floor. “Let’s do this quick,” said James, reaching into his pocket for the small rock Dumbledore had given him.

“This whole thing is barmy,” said Sirius, shaking his head. James waved his hand in his best friend’s face.

“Grab it and shut up,” he said. Sirius snorted, but obeyed. “When I finish pouring this we are going to run like hell’s minions are trying to chop off our dicks, understand?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” said Sirius, grabbing the hand that James had offered. James nudged the cork vial from the bottle with his thumb and the pink liquid began immediately steaming. He stepped back and crouched, one hand in the air with Sirius, and carefully poured the liquid so that none of it got on his shoes or robe. It came out in a steady stream of translucent pink potion, and when it made contact with the rock it hissed with steam. The targeted rock began to immediately bubble as if boiled, steam misting from its surface. And then the bubbling rock began to grow and ooze from the liquid. Like lava.

James jerked back from the rock and pulled at Sirius with all of his might. His eyes darted to find the blue of the chalk. “Run!” he barked. The rock’s lava was already the size of a dog. Sirius needed no other compulsion.

Sirius’s hand on the wall, following the bright chalk with one hand, James and Sirius raced. The rock smelled like heated stone, misty and earthy. The walls groaned from the movement forced by the rock as they shuddered and shook. Small pebbles fell from their place.

James couldn’t see behind him. They focused only on following that blue line, but the smell and the thundering shaking sound seemed close. The jumping of the earth shuddered the line they tried to follow. Heat curled at James’s ankles. He dared a look back.

It was far, but it was unmistakable. Coal-black lava raced them to the entrance, entering every nook and cranny in the tunnels. And it was coming for them.

The smell pervaded the tunnels as they ran. When James dared look down a sideways hall, he saw the lava there too. He could no longer feel his beaten heart, but it drove him to run faster.

And then Sirius stopped. James stumbled. “What the—“

“I can’t find it,” said Sirius, his voice a whisper.

The lava rumbled toward them. James coughed at the stench. “How long?”

Sirius turned around, turning James with him, walking backward in the direction of the oncoming lava. The blue line stopped several meters back. James peered more closely at the place where they stopped, his breath quick with fear. “I don’t—“

“Someone’s washed it off,” said Sirius. “We’re not alone.”

“But it’s still there, just washed—“ said James.

“So someone without magic,” Sirius interjected.

“Or someone who used a stupid spell,” said James. “My point is — never mind. _Lumos_ ,” he said, pointing at the washed off chalk. The spell lit the remaining chalk fragments, moved in washed out circles, into a bright fluorescent blue. The remainders of chalk, invisible before, lit the hallway with a bright blue glow.

Indeed, they were not alone.

A figure, hidden before by shadows, was suddenly visible for an instant in the direction of the washed chalk. James glanced back. The lava had been in the distance before. It wasn’t any longer.

They didn’t need to tell each other to run.

James’s legs burned as they sped faster than he could remember. His lungs were choked with sulphurous air.

The figure, seeing their run, ran first. The new light revealed him. Regulus. It didn’t matter, not now.

The hallway twisted and then lurched. James felt like he was running in spirals, and then he could see the door. The pale moonlight shone through the one-sided glass. Regulus got out first, but he shut the door behind him. James and Sirius reached the door just as they heard a click. James shook the door. It was locked.

“ _Alohamora_ ,” said Sirius, and James swung the door open, wand-first, tugging his friend through, and shutting the door behind him. “ _Stupefy_ ,” James said, aiming randomly before he dared pull himself through the door. Sirius nearly pushed him to the pavement, scrabbling to get out and close the door behind them. Outside, it was as if they really were standing outside a library. James could hear nothing from the tunnels at all.

Sirius’s little brother had avoided the charm. His wand was outstretched, his expression focused. “Regulus, what are you doing here?” Sirius asked, “Did Voldemort send you?”

Sirius’s brother’s expression was petulant. “They’ll never speak to you again now, do you realize that? You’ve shamed us all forever.”

“Our parents? Did they send you?” asked Sirius.

Regulus shook his head.

“What are you even doing here? You say you’re concerned about me, but you nearly just got all of us killed.”

“I followed you from Diagon Alley,” said Regulus.

“Why?” Sirius said.

“And who showed you this place?” asked James. “You can’t enter if no one shows you.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, “You showed me, when I followed you.”

“But why?” Sirius repeated.

Regulus’s face furrowed into a tight knot of brow and chin. “I couldn’t let you mess anything else up.”

Sirius stepped forward to grab his brother’s shoulders, “Is anyone else here?” Regulus seemed startled by his touch. His eyes widened and his shoulders squeezed together in surprise.

“N-no—“

“You swear it?” asked Sirius.

“Y-yes—“

Sirius pushed him back and he stumbled into the pavement. “This is the last I want to hear from you, got it? You, all of you, you’re dead to me.”

“Sirius…” said James in a cautious tone.

“No,” said Sirius, his veins like roots about his skin, “I’ve had enough of your interfering, your good intentions. I’m no one’s puppet, you hear?”

“I—“

“I don’t care,” Sirius spat, and turned.

“Sirius—“ called James, but Sirius ignored him. James didn’t want to leave him alone.

“You did a stupid thing, following us here,” he said.

Regulus stood in front of the door. James felt a stab of pity. Sirius’s younger brother looked crestfallen. His wand hand was limp now where before it had been rigid with preparation. Regulus no longer seemed keen on attack. James frowned in concern. “One day, hopefully some day soon, you just might spend a little bit more time thinking about the cause you’re fighting so hard for. When you do, you just might realize that you no longer want to be involved with people so obsessed with hating everyone else. If that day comes, come talk to me. I’m sure by then Sirius won’t be quite so mad as he is today.”

“It won’t happen,” said Regulus. “He’s wrong, you all are.”

James sighed. “Like I said, if you do…” he shrugged, and, without anything else to say, ran in a sideways sprint to meet his best friend, wand pointed cautiously behind them both, but Regulus had no more spells to cast.

When they turned the corner, James rested his arm around Sirius. “No wonder we saw that stupid washing spell. He’s not even in fourth year yet,” said Sirius, staring at the pavement.

James gave his friend’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “Here’s to hoping he comes around.”

“I’ve got so much family but all of them suck,” said Sirius. James didn’t know what to say to that, so they walked for a while in silence.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” said James after a while. “You’re my brother in everything but blood, you and Peter.”

“I know,” said Sirius.

“I wonder how he’s enjoying Spain,” said James.

“Maybe we’ll get home to a stack of post cards.” Sirius put on a high-pitched, whimpering sort of voice. “Mum and I are enjoying Spain lots. Got my fat arse stuck in a toilet seat from wanking too long to pictures of Sophia Lauren.”

James joined in, striking a similar tone, “Mummy wasn’t too pleased when she found me with my dick out in the bathroom! But I told her, mummy, she’s a witch, and then she didn’t mind too much anymore!”

Sirius snorted. “I missed you.” They walked a few steps further. “I miss him, too, funnily enough. I hope we do actually get a card.”

“If we do, what do we write back? Hey, Pete, how’ve you been? While you’ve been gone Si ran away and since then we’ve fought Voldemort and escaped some weird volcanic rock. It’s been a nice time! How are you?”

“We might not be able to put that bit on a card,” said Sirius, just as they arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron.

“We won’t be able to put any of it anywhere. History’s going to forget all about this,” said James.

The barman eyed them warily as they walked up to the floo. His eyes cast immediately down again once he saw them. Perhaps he was trying not to see. James and Sirius tossed the powder into the floo and said the right words and soon they were back in the Hideaway.

Dumbledore sat in a chair in front of the fireplace, waiting, his hands folded easily in his lap. Beyond him, the wolf that was Remus was sleeping soundly behind the magical barrier, his woven stomach moving to the pace of his breath.

“You were successful, I presume?” he said, and both boys nodded that yes, yes they had been.

 

**~*~**

 

The next hour was spent in long conversation as Dumbledore asked them questions about the day that they had been compelled to discard several hours before. They returned the vial to Dumbledore and got ready to return to the Potters' house to finally get some much-needed rest. As James stood at the edge of the floo, ready to jump in, Sirius said, “Go on without me, James, I’ll just be a minute,” and James glanced from Sirius to his headmaster. When his headmaster nodded at him to go, James spoke his address and walked through the flame, leaving Sirius with Professor Dumbledore.

Their headmaster sat, waiting, for Sirius to speak. Unsure of where to begin he cleared his throat. “Sir,” he said, then hesitated. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. Sirius gulped in a deep breath. “Sir,” he started again, “I was wondering… Can I speak to Mrs. Lupin? I know what she did was wrong, but there’s something I just really need to ask her before…” he trailed off, glancing at Remus’s sleeping frame. Dumbledore followed his gaze.

“You care about him, don’t you?” he asked. Sirius flushed.

“I — what?”

“In this life we have two options when we are confronted with other people. We can love them, or we can not. When we confuse the two, that’s when we tend to have trouble.”

Sirius looked away, unable to hold his headmaster’s gaze as he felt like cockroaches crawled throughout his insides.

“Sir, I’m not confused,” he said.

Dumbledore smiled, “I didn’t say you were. What did you want to talk to Mrs. Lupin about, exactly?”

“Remus and I… our situation is sort of the same.”

“I see,” said Dumbledore.

“I want to… I need…” Sirius trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“I understand,” said Dumbledore finally.

“You do?”

Dumbledore nodded, and led Sirius to a door beneath the stairs that he hadn’t noticed before. Inside the four walls were painted a pale blue. Other than Mrs. Lupin, who sat tied up on a chair at the room’s centre, the room was empty. Dumbledore closed the door behind him with just a sliver left open, just in case.

Mrs. Lupin’s head had tilted to the side with sleep, but at Sirius’s footfall she twitched awake. “Who is it?” she asked. Sirius lacked the bravery to shine the room’s lights on Mrs. Lupin’s face so her sagging skin and the thick blindfold over her eyes were outlined in pale silver.

“It’s Sirius,” he said. Mrs. Lupin harrumphed, unimpressed.

“Please leave,” she said, the sound of her words echoing in the small room.

“There’s something I need to know,” he said, careful to stay some paces away. When she answered him with silence he continued with his words. “I need to know, do you still love him?” He thought she wasn’t going to speak. Sirius almost retreated and then, finally, she did.

“Who?” she asked.

“Remus. Do you still love him?” Somehow the question seemed, to him, of profound importance. He asked it more for himself than for Remus. It asked how far love stretched into cruelty.

“Remus?” said Mrs. Lupin, tasting the name, unseeing. “My son?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll always love my son. But the man who has replaced him… That man is not my son. That man is a beast.”

Far off somewhere crickets made their midnight song. Sirius struggled to speak. “He hasn’t changed, he hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“That’s foolish. He has gone and he is changed right now, howling somewhere, I bet.” She didn’t know Remus was in the next room, Sirius realized. She continued, “I know you thought of being with him once, but you knew nothing then, didn’t you? You must know that everything you felt then, it wasn’t real. That man, at his core, is a fraud and a monster.”

Sirius regretted coming at this late hour, but he couldn't tear himself away.

“He killed my husband, you know. He swears it was an accident, he swears he couldn’t control his magic and that it happened all to fast, but I know it’s all a lie. I tell you this to warn you. You need to be warned. Love isn’t real when all you love is a mirage.”

“I didn’t say I loved him,” said Sirius.

“Why are you here, then?” asked Mrs. Lupin.

Sirius didn’t know the answer at first, standing limply in the bare room before her while his mind scraped at the pale words he could use to describe his feeling. “I had to tell you,” he finally said. “Remus deserved more than you.”

After that he went back to his headmaster, who looked at him far too knowingly. “Thank you for that,” he said to Dumbledore.

“Did she tell you what you needed to know?” Dumbledore asked.

Sirius thought for a moment. “In a way,” he said. After saying a brief good-bye he followed James into the floo and walked through the quiet Potter house to the room he shared with James. He fell asleep, but he was only slightly calmed. It didn’t matter what they deserved, he thought into the black, people rarely get what they deserve.


	20. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus talk at Mr. Potter's funeral.

**CHAPTER 20**

 

At dawn Dumbledore went to the Potter house with his staff, but Sirius only saw him some time after, helping himself to some toast and fried eggs. “I’m sure you’re both wildly curious about the state of your friend,” he said, and with a flick of his wrist eggs were frying on the stove for both him and James, who had followed him down the stairs.

“How is he?” asked James.

“As fine as is to be expected,” said their Headmaster.

“Why are you here?” asked Sirius.

“I spoke to Remus this morning,” said Dumbledore. By now their magical eggs had finishing frying. “On the toast or to the side?” Dumbledore asked them, and James and Sirius each gave their orders in something of a daze. Their Headmaster was making them breakfast.

“So? What’s that got to do with us?” asked James. At this, two plates clanked onto the table with considerably more pizazz than they received when James’s mother was serving them. Their Headmaster gestured for them to sit with him at the table and folded his hands together, great crevices in his old forehead.

“He told me about his friend. He was distraught when he found out that she’d passed. They were very close, apparently.” Dumbledore sighed. “Neither of them have had easy lives. Perhaps you might have guessed. I learned that his friend, Alyssa, was a muggle who discovered that she was a werewolf as a child when, after her first full moon she discovered that she had murdered her parents in their beds. Remus, you might know, has been forced to fight and sometimes kill for many years now. He tells me he was so desperate not to be forced to kill again that, when his father tried to force him to serve Voldemort, he lost control of his magic and in his rage started the fire that killed his father. We don’t escape our trials unscathed. What do you know of this man Kent?”

“He was their handler at the dog fights,” said Sirius.

“Correct,” said Dumbledore. “He worked with Remus’s father to enter Remus into contests and, Remus believes, rig the bets. He also trained Remus to fight for many years. Later, Kent became involved with Voldemort and he convinced Remus’s father to give his son to Voldemort’s service. Remus was deeply opposed to this, as I told you a moment ago. He was in the Voldemort’s service for only a day, but he spoke with great pain of the things he was compelled to do.”

“Sir, why are you telling us all of this?” asked James.

Dumbledore let out a long breath, the passage of air tickling at his beard. “As his friends, you deserve to know.”

James looked at Sirius, “Well, we’re not really his friends, we’re just—“

“Thank you, sir,” said Sirius. He looked back at James, daring him to disagree again. Clearly surprised, James stayed silent.

“And there’s one more thing, though perhaps, in comparison, it is of lesser consequence to a friend,” their headmaster said, his pale blue eyes fixed on each of their faces. “The house you were led to yesterday, the Hideaway, exists by no accident. You were brought there by no accident. Voldemort is growing stronger with every passing day, and we alone are the only ones with the slightest ability to stop him. You’ve proven yourself in the past six years to be formidable opponents to authority, and over the past few days you’ve proven yourselves to also be loyal, brave, and resourceful — all precious traits in a member of the Order of the Pheonix.”

“The what?” asked James.

“The Order of the Pheonix,” Dumbledore repeated.

“Who are they?” asked Sirius.

“We,” Dumbledore emphasized, “are the world’s last hope of defeating Voldemort. We are the resistance.”

“We?” said James, not daring to let his heart bloom with the hope that he could truly fight against the man who’d killed his father, hope that he could prevent the deaths of so many more.

“We,” said Dumbledore, warm at James’s earnestness, and then smiled.

When their headmaster finally left them that day after talking about who could know and who couldn’t, what they would know and what they wouldn’t, how they would talk to each other and when they would meet, they became more aware than ever of their strange new reality. Time had changed and roles had switched. It was now up to them to protect those who had once protected them.

They didn’t see Remus again until Mr. Potter’s funeral, clothed in black.

The day was crisp and the crowd was small despite the love Mr. Potter had once known. People were afraid to leave their houses. Mrs. Potter said she understood, but James and Sirius both knew that the funeral’s loneliness heightened her grief. Remus and Althea stood together through the ceremony like two stone statues, two orphaned children dressed in soldier’s clothing. Sirius stood away but watched them through the afternoon’s tears and final words.

The funeral took place not, as was traditional, in the hallowed catacombs of their forefathers, but instead in the quiet Potter home. Mrs. Potter, James, Sirius, and a priest had performed the last rites alone that morning, and with James’s earlier transportation of the body the traditional ceremony — involving the carrying of the body from the funeral home to its eternal home — was no longer necessary. In lieu of the shared words in the catacomb Mrs. Mire had prepared refreshments for the close family and friends. Those that braved the funeral milled in the lower area of the house bearing flowers and gifts of food for the mourning family. James was finding it hard, Sirius knew, to greet each old friend, whether he knew them or not, but the line of the family’s well-wishers was long and the interest in Sirius was lower than low. As soon as it seemed fair he slipped away. His attention had been on Remus all day, wondering, and after days without seeing him it now seemed up to chance whether he would see him again before the Hogwarts train rolled into the station.

When he found him he was sitting uncomfortably with Althea in the kitchen. They were each holding a distracting cup of tea in silence. When she saw him, Althea looked at Remus in a concerned sort of way. Remus’s face gained the heady flush of someone who had been deprived of the floor. Sirius could see little evidence now of the dark bruises and scars that had ravaged his skin just days before. Only a faint yellow tint from bruising to his skin remained.

“Sirius? Hey, sorry. We’ll get out of your way,” Remus said in a stuttering manner that wasn’t familiar. He stood in order to do as he’d threatened but Sirius grabbed his arm to stop his exit.

“Can I talk to you?” he asked. Remus traded a look with an unhappy Althea, but Sirius pleaded with his gaze.

“Okay,” said Remus. Outside under the tree in the Potter’s backyard he seemed to relax, if only by a little. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked, and Sirius suddenly realized that he’d had no idea.

“I just wanted to see you, talk to you after everything that’s happened. How have you been?” Sirius asked. He stood awkwardly in the dappled shade, one hand hidden behind his back as it reached for the other.

“I’ve been how I normally am after the full moon. Exhausted. Drained. Except worse, because now my best friend is dead.” Remus shrugged and looked away. Sirius felt a pinch at his gut. It felt like drowning. “It’s funny, being here, at this funeral. So many people loved Mr. Potter, but no one even cares that Alyssa is gone.”

Sirius saw him for a second time. He was pale, and heavy bags were under his eyes. He’d attributed his obvious fatigue to the moon, but perhaps that wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry about your friend. You two seemed to mean a lot to each other.” He paused, staring for a moment at Remus’s tightening frown. His voice was softer the next time he spoke. “I think… we didn’t know each other very well, before,” Sirius said. Remus shot him a look. “I didn’t know you,” Sirius corrected.

“No you didn’t,” said Remus. “Is this your cue to run away now? Burn me in silver? I still have the scar.” He slipped back his sleeve to show Sirius the heart-shaped mark. It was there, but instead what Sirius saw was the long scab on his wrist. For Remus, this was an outpouring. He added, his voice dropping, “What are you doing still talking to me? Dumbledore said you know what happened.”

“Yeah,” said Sirius. Inside there was a break of music, a song Mr. Potter had once loved clearing over the outside wind. “But what I wanted to say was thank you. For saving my life.” He looked down and then whispered, but Remus was a werewolf so it didn’t matter how loudly he said it. “Why’d you do it? After what I did?”

Remus ground on his jaw and again he couldn’t look Sirius in the eyes. “How could you not know?”

“It only matters if you say it,” he said.

Remus turned himself to him and the intensity felt like heat. Remus was so fully focused that Sirius suddenly felt toes he hadn’t known he had. Mere follicles of skin felt like conductors to this man who was suddenly the sun. “I love you, Sirius. I’ve loved you for more than a year, ever since we first met. But you’re perfect and I’m a murderer. It’s clear which of us should be waiting to die. I couldn’t let you be the one of us to die.”

“How do you know that I don’t feel the same?”

“How could you, knowing what you know now? And besides, there’s James.”

“What about him?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

Sirius took a moment to consider the words Remus had left unsaid. “No,” he said, for the first time brave enough to admit the feeling out loud.

“No?” asked Remus.

“No,” said Sirius. Remus was stood still, too afraid to move. Sirius stepped forward, slipping his fingers through Remus’s fingers, slipping into his unfettered hope.

“What are you doing?” Remus asked. “I’m dangerous. And James, he’ll see.”

“I don’t care about that. He’ll find out anyway,” said Sirius, “I want to give you a real chance,” he said. He fingered Remus’s arm, gliding his thumb over Remus’s heart-shaped mark. “Will you forgive me?”

“I already have,” said Remus. Queasiness twisting at his chest, Sirius pressing against Remus with his chest, stepping up onto his toes so that their eyes met. He didn’t care if James was watching. He pressed his lips against Remus’s and they kissed. It was glorious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the Epilogue, coming on Monday!


	21. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Potter household receives a visit.

**EPILOGUE**

 

The Saturday before school began again Dumbledore came to the Potters’ house by door instead of Floo, once again proving himself to be unconventional. With just a few days before summer ended and the school year once again began, the household had been in a frenzy of packing and running out to shops to buy school supplies, so the house was overrun with trunks and bags and cauldrons. James had been there to help Sirius choose his new wand on the same day that they all went together to choose Althea’s, a long mahogany with dragon heartstring, and it hadn’t left his side since. James could only imagine how naked he must have felt without a wand of his own. Kent’s wand was a poor replacement.

Recently, Remus had begun coming to and from the Hideaway for visits. His little sister lived with Mrs. Mire for the time being. Her mother had been cast with such a strong memory spell after the interrogation that they were no longer sure she would be fit to parent Althea for some time. While they waited to find out, Mrs. Mire was kinder to her in her misery than any of the Potters could have managed. Remus tried to make up for his mother’s betrayal by helping the Potters and Mrs. Mire around the house and with attention to his little sister, but there was only so much he could do. The rest of the time he spent with Sirius.

To James’s surprise, a few days after the funeral Sirius had marched into his room and said, “James, I’m gay! What do you have to say about that?” and James had only been able to say, not as surprised as he would have expected to be, “Okay?” after which Sirius had marched out again. Since then they’d had several long, overwhelming conversations on the topic, each conversation resulting in a similar thesis from James: Sirius was his best friend and nothing else mattered. After losing his father he couldn’t imagine losing Sirius. What had come as a surprise was the Remus portion of the whole thing. Sirius had admitted, more quietly this time, that he and Remus had known each other for longer than they had let on, and that they’d been sleeping with each other since before he and James had known he was a werewolf, but that since then they’d been taking it more slowly. James hadn’t wanted to know any of this, and yet he did, repeating to Sirius what he’d said before: Sirius was his best friend, nothing else mattered. Now Remus was outside sitting in some grass, watching the sky.

Dumbledore and Mrs. Potter had been meeting for hours now, and the sun was at high noon. James watched as Sirius retreated from the house, bypassing where he sat at the front steps. On James’s one side was a pile of letters and on his other was a stack of crumpled paper. The letter to Lily that now sat on his lap had been started and scrapped more times than he was willing to admit. His current version started with, “Dearest Lily, You are a flower and my muse,” but after rereading his first line he had decided to add this one to the pile of rubbish. He harboured the secret hope that not long into the year Lily would let him call her his girlfriend.

A book resting under his arm, Sirius walked to where Remus sat staring at clouds and joined him. He placed the book in the other boy’s lap, and although James couldn’t hear what they said, he assumed it was something nice, like, “You like books, I know you like books, here’s a book.” Maybe they hadn’t said that exactly, but Remus held the book in his hands like it was something precious. James wondered if that was why Remus had been so defensive about being caught going through his stacks of magic books; because squibs don’t read spell books, and the only reason Remus might pretend to be a squib was if he were really something worse. That felt obvious now, though James hadn’t thought to see it then.

Finally, Dumbledore stepped out of the front door. “Sir?” said James, standing up. Dumbledore looked surprised to see him there, though he shouldn’t have. James had been sitting with his papers and his quill since he had arrived.

“Yes, James?” Dumbledore said.

“Sir, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” James said, pretending confidence with a straightened back.

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows with a nod, still considering his conversation with Mrs. Potter. “Must you discuss it with me now, Mr. Potter? School resumes on Tuesday.”

James nodded. “Yes, Professor. Sir. Now is best.”

Professor Dumbledore folded his hands together, enveloping them in his long sleeves. “Then you have my attention. What is your concern?”

“I have a friend,” James began in a rush. “He doesn’t go to Hogwarts, but he should. He’s not a squib. He’s a werewolf. Actually, you know him. And I think he should have a chance. I think you should admit him. I think things might have been different for him, sir, if he’d been given a chance.”

Dumbledore glanced at Remus and Sirius, Remus pouring over the book Sirius had given him while Sirius watched him read with a fascination James was unfamiliar with. Dumbledore’s eyes were soft. “A werewolf, you say? Do you mean Mr. Lupin over there with Mr. Black?”

James nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Ah, I see,” the Professor said, watching the boys together. He turned to James, his face kind. “Your mother had the same concern.”

“Oh,” said James.

“We discussed it at some length, she and I.”

“And?”

“And what?” asked Dumbledore, seemingly amused now.

“Will you admit him?” James asked.

At that, Dumbledore smiled and winked. “Your friends will be a fearsome force. Voldemort should quake in his boots.” Without another word, the Professor continued on his walk.

Following, James asked, “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

The professor waved cheerfully good-bye, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead of him. “Toodle-oo, Mr. Potter! I’ll see you on Tuesday.”


End file.
